


By Any Other Name

by reiseliza



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Drama & Romance, Eventual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 97,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiseliza/pseuds/reiseliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to live your life according to someone else's expectations and remaining true to yourself can be hard.  Trying to do so during a Blight is impossible.</p><p>Through the darkest moments, life's impossibilities and uncertainties, James Cousland finds happiness, herself, and a love she never thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers!
> 
> This is my first attempt at a fanfic, so please bear with me! All feedback is very welcome and much appreciated. I'm really trying develop fem!cousland as a character, so the first maybe 5 or so chapters will be her backstory. Let me know what you think: I hope you love it!
> 
> All characters and major plot points in DA:O are all property of EA and Bioware: I lay claim to nothing other than my poetic license.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Blight, James Cousland reflects on what it was like as a child and how it all began.

The Old Gods will call to you,  
From their ancient prisons they will sing.  
Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts,  
On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight,  
The first of My children, lost to night.  
\- Silence 3:6, Dissonant Verse

Every now and then, I find my mind wandering into the distant past, to the many lingering springs and endless summers I'd spent in Highever as a child. When I am especially tired or have a quiet moment alone, I willingly relive the memories they arouse. Even though so much has happened since, my memory instinctively takes me there, as if by the hand, always to the place where everything truly began. 

My childhood was what could only be described as turbulent, yet somehow remotely optimistic. Amid all of my youthful catastrophes, some by my own design and disaster, I managed to see a faint flicker of hope. I was born James Margaret Alindra Cousland with all of the pomp and circumstance one might expect for the birth of a Teyrn's son: all the midwives swore just by looking at mother that I would be born a boy, and she even promised a dear childhood friend on his death bed that I would bear his namesake. I was born five days later, very much a girl. I imagine the exact moment of my birth was like all of the air being sucked out of a room, leaving a flatness in its stead. After all, I was not what was expected.

But I was very much loved. My mother kept her promise and insisted that I be named James. My father hated it so much that he has never once called me by that name; instead, he affectionately called me "Pup." Over the span of my life, I have come to love both. James is strong-willed, independent, and longs for something just beyond the horizon, merely out of reach. Pup is curious, full of laughter, and rife with the kind of grand whimsy that only a little girl who loves fairy stories and legends of romanticized knights could possess. They make up two sides of the same coin.

These two parts of myself work together flawlessly; albeit, not always in my favor. I'm told that as a small child, being both the only Cousland female born since my great grandmother and the only descendent since that has inherited her painfully thick auburn hair, I was quite a little spitfire that didn't listen to anyone but my father. Even father would remark, though, that I was highly unusual as a child. When my Nan would read me stories of princesses locked away in towers, I wanted to hear the legends of real, true knights. I never played with dolls, but I remember begging endlessly for a wooden sword so I could finally have fun with my older brother, Fergus. Growing up in Highever was not easy, as I always felt stuck between two invisible realms unable to navigate between them, but it was extremely eventful: nearly as predictable as the weather.

Every year I waited patiently, faithfully, for the first signs of spring. As the snow would melt on the stark mountainsides heralding the advent of spring, it trickled down to the streams below, filling them with crisp, glacial water and the air with a dense and lingering mist. Fog would climb from the lake's surface and rise into the trees, cradling each branch and needle, seeming to hold up the trees in the snow's absence. As the mist filtered its way out to the Waking Sea in an attempt to disperse amid fleets of ships toward the Free Marches, an influx of tempests from the coast would urge it back again. Winter's end painted Highever in the dullest shades of bleak rainstorm grey and subdued emerald, and many of those who have borne witness to it might remark on the sullen landscape and its direct affect on the mood of Highever's citizens. 

I was not one of those people.

While many in Highever saw the end of winter as merely the last segment of a torturous season, obscuring the land in seemingly perpetually heavy and damp darkness brought on by the persistent snowfall of the prior months, I viewed it as the year's first invitation to explore with ease and to come alive again. Escaping my Nan as a young girl was quite a feat: I was known to be quite an exasperating child, always off on some "adventure" or with my head in the clouds dreaming of swordplay and tales from Ferelden lore, and as the result of such perilous behavior, having broken my arm once when I was six, I was under constant supervision. I spent literally myriads of rainy spring afternoons staring out of my window at the courtyard below, enviously watching Fergus learn how to spar and gracefully maneuver with a long sword and shield, as Nan and mother continuously made failing attempts to teach me grace through the finer arts. Somewhere, deep down, I knew I should take interest in womanly tasks like embroidery, painting, or even learning the "clever art of feminine conversation," as my mother put it, but some unknown force stemming from the horizon had found me first. It held me firmly in its grasp, and it always commanded my attention, silently urging me to submit myself and carry out its desires. 

My disinterest was clear to all from the beginning, and because little else held my attention, I was often forced to read aloud selections from various arrays of boring books on the decorum and pageantry of court or passages from "The Chant of Light." This worked well enough at first, but after a time I grew quite clever in asking to be excused for various reasons (or on the very rare chance that Brother Aldous or Mother Mallol would fall asleep as I recited), and I found my way into the forest surrounding the castle. To me, there was no better sound than the soggy squelch the earth made under my shoes, the smell of soil mingling with sea air, and the way the sunlight almost twinkled through the dark lattice made by cedars and pines. 

Many of my so-called adventures were glorious: I spent as much time as I could afford without being missed pretending to be a hero of old, protecting unicorns with imaginary swords, and generally saving the teyrnir from bandits. All I ever dreamed I could be, I was in those moments, and they were the happiest I had ever been before the Blight. These outings became more and more frequent, almost to the point of my being punished. But I didn't care.

In the summer I turned eight, Brother Aldous had allowed my lessons to be conducted outside. On the first day, I took advantage of the fact that half of my work as an escape artist was already done and quickly made my way between the trees in the first instant that he looked away from me. I ran laughing all the way into the forest clearing near the lake, and I came upon a man who seemed to be looking for something. I stood there for a moment, admiring his chestnut mare as she quietly drank from the lake, pushing a slick pebble into the water with her hoof. He smiled when he saw me, edging closer, still searching for whatever it was he'd lost.

"Excuse me, little lady," he said, the smile on his face growing. "Would you be willing to help a gent find something he's misplaced? It's sort of a treasure, you see. Very important."

"Ser," I gasped as my face lit up. "I would be honored!" He nodded and pointed me in the direction of where he thought the "treasure" could be, an amulet that he claimed he'd dropped as he rode through the forest the day before. As I began to walk away my eyes scoured the ground, and I thought about how exciting this all was. _Treasure hunting,_ I thought. _Just like pirat--_

It was over in a moment. First, the light from the sun caught in the trees blinded me, my eyes slid backward, and then nothing. He'd brought the hilt of his sword down on the crown of my head, and my body fell into a crumpled pile on the ground. The stranger gathered me up, strapped me to his horse, and rode off in an instant. Though everything around me was darkness, I could feel the wind brushing against my cheeks and hear the horse's hooves pummel the forest's floor. _No,_ I tried to scream, _Please, no! Let me go!_ But no sound emerged.

While we sped off toward the forest's edge, my body felt lost in the total darkness enveloping me, weightlessly. As I kept trying to scream, I became aware of a presence watching me. A pair of narrow, glowing eyes opened in the distance, peering intently, while hot, arid breath crawled down the back of my neck. I could almost see pointed teeth dripping, claws tightening in anticipation. Something was looking for me, had been waiting for me. I could feel it smiling, _like it knew me._ My eyes widened, and it chuckled in response, a low, guttural laugh almost like a growl.

Its laughter rumbled around me, causing me to tremble: my hands shook violently as I put them over my ears, but I couldn't break its gaze. 

"You've been a very bad girl," a voice echoed across the void, sounding almost delighted. "Do you know what happens to very bad girls?"

"I, I--" I stammered, unable to force my mouth to work. I was _terrified_ ; my instincts were primally urging me to run and quickly, but my body betrayed me. It was as if this figure held me in place.

"You'll have to be punished," it purred, its yellow eyes dancing. "But how to punish you, that's the question."

"Please," I could barely whisper as I choked on the words. "Please don't hurt me."

"Oh, but I _want_ to," it drawled, its eyes aflame with anticipation. "I want to hurt you. I will take your family from you one by one, everything and everyone you will ever love. I will rip them all from your grasp, and you will suffer at the loss. They will haunt you, hating you, _blaming_ you, all you love turning to ash in your hands…and after that, I'll taste your flesh and revel in your utter desolation."

The figure moved closer, the sheer force of its weight crashing downward made me feel like everything was falling down around me, but there was nothing except for its eyes. Those eyes, growing larger and larger, fixed on me, holding me in place. Its movement sounded like dark secrets, slithering unseen in the dark recesses of somewhere ancient, forgotten but closing in. Its breath caressed my ear as the sickness rose in my stomach as I tried to concentrate.

"Oh, I think I'll enjoy this," its voice sent a chill down my spine.

Suddenly, my arm swung out into the darkness, connecting with something wet, white hot. As my body collided with the ground, the figure let out a piercing roar as its head thrashed, cutting the air, and unleashed a wall of fire with one eye clamped closed: my thoughts were racing, it's a--. Suddenly, there was only fire.

I clenched my eyes shut, screaming, as the heat cracked my skin. 

"It's alright, Pup," my father whispered desperately to quiet my screams, his lips pressed firmly to my head. I opened my eyes blinking heavily, my breath heaving and heart racing, to see that I was back in the forest, that day had turned to night, and my father held me fiercely in his arms. "I've got you, pup. You're safe now."

"Oh, Papa," The tears welled up in my eyes, my chest still fighting for the cool night air. "I-I--"

"Hush, pup," He said quietly, holding me tighter. "It's okay. I've got you."

Woozy and disoriented, my body shook in his arms and clung to him as his own tears fell softly into my hair.


	2. The Ghost Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As James gets older, she begins to realize that being herself and being born in the nobility are bound to cause some problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the lovely characters and major plot points from DA:O belong to EA and Bioware, and I lay absolutely zero claim to them.

The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil  
And grew jealous of the life  
They could not feel, could not touch.  
In blackest envy were the demons born.  
\- Erudition 2:1

Four years later Fergus became engaged to Oriana, a woman from a rich Antivan trading family with whom father had arranged their marriage. Their wedding was to be an elaborate affair, with Fergus being the teyrn's only son, and people from all of Ferelden would be arriving to celebrate their union. On the day before the wedding, I grew restless as caravans of merchants and nobility alike poured in through the castle gates. The streets were decorated from the alienage all the way up the hill to the castle with flowers and ribbons everywhere lining the road. It was when King Maric's carriage arrived that something stirred in me: I stood in the front of the hall as he made his great entrance, greeting my father warmly. As they spoke, my mind wandered. King Maric, my thoughts raced. _I wonder if I'll get to see him use a sword. Wouldn't that be magnificent…_

"Pup," my father interrupted. "Are you listening to me?"

"Wha, what?" I shook my head lightly in response. He sighed heavily and smiled awkwardly at the king. 

"It's time for your history lesson, dear heart. Your gawking at royals makes me uneasy," his smile grew more genuine as he pushed me off towards the door.

"But I wasn't gawking!" I raised my eyebrows at him, pleading. I had never seen a king before, and I had oh so many questions to ask him. What was it like to fight the Orlesians and Magisters? Would he share stories from his heroic conquests, from war? Would he show me his best sword? All of these and more, I just had to know.

"Go!" my father laughed whole-heartedly as he pointed at the door. "Before I let Nan come after you instead."

I begrudgingly went to my final lesson of the day, though my thoughts were elsewhere. I bumped into walls twice on my way to my lesson, and once I arrived, I spotted Fergus out the window, sparring with Prince Cailan. _How lucky,_ I thought. _He gets to fight a prince, and I'm trapped in the castle, pretending to be a lady._

"Oh, Brother Aldous," I sighed softly. He didn't even bother to raise his eyes from the book in front of him.

"Yes, Lady James?" He sighed back, mocking me. "What is it now?"

"I am feeling a bit faint," I lied, my mouth moving without the control of my brain. "All of this commotion over Fergus's wedding has left me feeling not quite myself. Might I rest until dinner?"

To my surprise he smiled softly. "It's natural, you know, when a sibling gets married to feel like a part of you is missing, like you've lost them. You do realize that he's not going anywhere, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," my voice was heavy, and my eyes returned to the window. What was I doing? I had never lied outright before.

"Oh, off with you," He sized me up, still smiling. "I won't be having sad young women in my presence today. You're of no good to anyone like this, and trust me, I know."

I could barely get through the door fast enough before muttering my thanks. Something had taken over me, a feeling I'd not felt since that afternoon in the forest years ago. I had promised father a million times I wouldn't run off from the castle again as I had on so many occasions as a child, and I had held up my end of the bargain. After awhile the dream felt dead inside of me, though it lingered, and I had almost given in to the thought of becoming the noble lady instead of the noble warrior. Almost.

I went as fast as my feet could carry me in my new gown and slippers, there was no time to change clothes. I had precious little daylight left, and I wanted to make full use of it. I nearly flew down the stairs, my long hair in a mess floating behind me, and out the servants entrance on the rear end of the castle. As I flung the door open, the cool breeze nearly carried me off, once again, weaving between the trees and down into the clearing. 

Next to the glittering lake, its waters rippling from bugs skitting by on the surface, a tree had fallen during a recent squall and a few of its branches had landed in the tall grass nearby. Nature had provided me with the perfect sword and dagger, it seemed. _I never did like shields,_ I thought to myself, _They're too heavy. You can't move with them at all._

I picked them up, and proceeded to enter into epic battle with the trees. I transformed into the hero, and the trees became the hulking ogres I'd heard of in my fairy stories. 

Awhile later, my father followed by a shaded figure found me in the woods with sticks grasped tightly in both of my hands, and they watched me intently, swinging my makeshift weapons at tree trunks with vigor. I do not know how long they watched me as the time I spent in the woods that day had escaped me: I was lost in my imagination, playing the part I knew so well, slaying the ogre army that had ravaged the forest heading straight for the castle. My arms, scrawny though they were, swung with intensity as I danced around the trees, outstepping each ogre in my mind and fatally slicing their sides open with my wooden weapons. 

"Fie, ogre!" I yelled, my voice strong and proud. "You'll not see victory this day!"

I mimicked the movements I had so often seen my older brother, Fergus, exhibit in his sparring lessons. As the eldest and only son of a Teyrn, upholding and continuing the Cousland legacy and honor would be Fergus's sole responsibility, something I'd been inherently and perhaps almost unconsciously envious of from the time I was old enough to understand the notions of feminine filial duty and propriety. In that moment, as I hacked away at trunks and branches, I felt as free as I ever could, a great joy filled every inch of me. As the larger stick I carried collided with the side of a tree trunk, backed with all of the strength I could gather, the smaller readied itself to thrust forward and deliver a killing blow. It was only my father's voice that caught me off-guard, stopping me mid-motion.

"Pup," he called to me, the frustration in his voice was marked even though he did not call me by my proper name. "What are you doing?! We've sent scouts out to look for you!"

It had just struck me that the sky had gone dark, the last moments of twilight hung in dreamily in the sky, dotted with the first stars of evening: I had been gone hours longer than I anticipated. The feast before Fergus's wedding would be at least half-over by now, and my absence would have caused commotion. My body visibly wilted, and I knew instantly that I was more than likely in my fair share of trouble. I had made a slew promises to give up my escapist antics and make the effort to begin my endeavor in becoming whatever it was that my family expected of me. And I had for so long, hadn't I?

"Hello, father," I sighed as my heart fervently raced. My eyes focused solely on my new slippers, ruined, smudged and saturated with viscose mud. He had threatened me with every finishing school in Orlais to proper etiquette lessons behind locked doors, everything except physically shackling me to a wall and handing the key to Nan if I disobeyed. 

"Why do I feel like we've found ourselves in this situation many times before, and yet this time it seems particularly as though you live to deliberately ignore the requests I make of you in earnest, instead of simply being prone to follow flights of fancy?" As he spoke his eyes narrowed, looking me over from to to head, and his voice grew heated as he examined the absolute wreck I'd made of my dress. "You know your mother, Nan, and every servant in Highever have been searching all of the castle through for you. It's nearly dark, and Maker knows what or who might find you out here alone!"

"I was…I was…" I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. After all, what was I doing? I couldn't tell my father to his face that I was out in the woods for hours pretending, daydreaming while the rest of the kingdom were guests in our home. I was twelve and no longer a child, and yet, I felt so trapped without any hope of release. The only consolation I had ever found under anyone's tutelage was recounting the exploits of kings and those before them, wishing that I could live the life that ached to awaken within me. That unknown voice whispered inside me, every single day, willing me to pursue my dream. How could I let it die?

"You are a Teyrn's daughter, my only daughter!" he shouted forcefully. "How many times do you need reminding that someone could prey on you out here alone with plans to ransom you or worse. Only the Maker knows the unspeakable acts that some vile criminal might commit against you again for gold or revenge against our family! Is that what you want?! What if next time, we do not get to you in time?"

My stomach dropped to the floor of the forest, and my mouth fell open with it. _He thought it had happened again, dear Andraste. The look on his face…_

"I'm so sorry, father. I--"

"That's not enough!" he spat. His voice echoed amid the trees, and the silence that followed was no less deafening. It was heartbreaking, knowing that my family would have my life spent pandering to the interests of men, garnering a husband only to be locked in a castle-shaped cage. It was more agonizing, however, to see the disappointment surface in every angle of my father's face and know it was truly genuine. I stood there as my extremities began to shake and silent tears rolled down my cheeks. 

"Bryce, if I may?" 

I had almost forgotten that we weren't alone. Someone emerged from the trees and walked over to me, pulling down the hood of his cloak as he stood next to me. 

"Yes, your grace," My father sighed raking his hands through his hair, his frustration, worry, and his love for me all written on his face.

"James," King Maric said softly, his bright golden eyes looking into mine. "That is your name, isn't it?"

"Yes, your majesty," my voice trembled as I wiped away my tears. "That would be the joke."

My father looked on as Maric chuckled. "Well, girl, I'll give you that you have a sense of humor. Tell me, what is it that you want most in this world, truly. If you could have anything without consequence, what might it be?"

"I'd be a glorious knight, your grace," I blurted out. The words left my lips before I could gather them back in. "The kind you read about in stories."

"Ah," he smiled wistfully. "And what are you most afraid of, more than anything?"

Many thoughts crossed my mind: the glowing eyes, the sharp fangs and claws ever present in my dreams, each time in the Fade doubling in size, how some nights I was so terrified to go to sleep that I stayed up until dawn as it haunted me, laughing at me in the deepest corners of my mind, promising that it would ravage everything I held dear. Yet, I could think of something worse.

"Being locked away," I pointed towards the castle. "like a pet canary that sings only when commanded." I was so tired from wrestling with these thoughts. I wanted to collapse and be done. 

"What am I meant to do with you?" my father asked as he rapidly approached me with King Maric at my side. "I need you to understand that your mother and I want you to have the kind of life you deserve. If something happens to your mother, myself, or Fergus, you will be the one who has to carry on the family line. It will be easier for you to find a husband someday if you lay down these notions of weapons and armor and take up some of the graces of court that are better suited to ladies of your stature!" Without a breath he continued, looking me straight in the face. He meant every word he said.

"And aside from all of that, when you were abducted years ago and we had no idea of whether you were alive or dead at the hand of some miscreant, the pain we felt was unimaginable, indescribable. When I found you, I held your fevered body in my arms praying as hard as a man is able that you would live, that I could see your eyes look at me one more time. I would not wish that upon my most hated enemy, and I could not endure it again. I cannot and will not. Do not ask it of me."

"But, father, I--" my eyes finally met his, mottled from tears. 

"Bryce," the king interjected. "Should the poor girl not learn to defend herself? I'd say that's a fair compromise. Your worries are well-founded, 'tis true, but consider your daughter for a moment." 

"I, what…" My father stammered. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not telling you to hand her a shield tomorrow and send her off to fight for the realm. I am suggesting, however, to teach the girl to at least wield a dagger. She can have lessons that keep her occupied and close to the castle under your watch. Can't you see what this is doing to you? I have seen families torn apart by less."

King Maric smoothed back a wisp of his long hair behind his ear, his gaze aimed thoughtfully at the ground. _Is this really happening?_ I wondered. _Can this really be happening?_

"I…" My father trailed off. "I suppose you're right, Maric."

"Of course I am," the king smiled at me suddenly, winking. "And besides, you must admit that she has real skill. Andraste's teeth, she has a quick step and is likely stronger than she looks."

"Must you encourage her?" My father smiled. "Come here, pup, and hug your father. Thank the king for making him see the error of his ways."

And so I did. I gave King Maric the biggest and best curtsy I could muster in my mud-caked frock and slippers, and I ran into my father's arms, hugging him in the same manner that he hugged me the night I'd first awoken from my nightmare. He scooped me up in his arms, my toes barely caressing the ground.


	3. A Blessing & a Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After coming to a hard realization, James receives a gift from an unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my verse from the Chant of Light for this chapter comes from the end of DA:I, but it worked so well. I couldn't help myself!

Now her hand is raised,  
A sword to pierce the sun.  
With iron shield she defends the faithful  
Let chaos be undone.  
\- Victoria 1:3

Fergus's wedding went off without a hitch, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever witnessed. I'd never in my life beheld something so gorgeous: the music, the dancing, the enamored looks circulating across the hall were all too romantic. Amid the voluminous gowns, made in jewel-toned velvets and embroidered with gold thread, and the banners that hung from the ceiling of the great hall, I also realized something. I recognized, as my brother said his vows in front of his bride, our guests, and the Maker, he was most likely making a decision that would affect his entire life, with no questions asked. With a smile on his face, he married Oriana. 

It was a moment I would not soon forget.

In the days following Fergus's wedding, the guests cleared out of the castle quickly as the festivities wound down. As the castle returned to its normal stoic quietness, I patiently awaited news of my "training." Nothing had been spoken about it since the eve of Fergus's wedding, and I knew better than to press the matter further. Though I kept quietly to myself and put all the effort I could bear into my lessons with Brother Aldous and Mother, I waited with bated breath.

Weeks passed slowly, and I began to lose hope until Fergus cornered me after dinner one evening in the great hall, carrying a gilded box tied up with long red ribbon. He had this look about him, all mischief and gladness, and I knew instantly he was hiding something.

"Sister," he said grinning at me, motioning for me to follow him into the study. "Come, I have something to give you."

I followed closely behind him and he shut the door as we entered. He appeared almost giddy, and I'd never seem him like that before. 

"What's wrong with you, Fergus?" I asked cautiously as I sat down next to the fireplace. "I feel like this is one of your jokes…again. If this is some wild prank, please save your energy. You'll think so hard you might set the castle on fire."

Fergus's laughter filled the study, almost reverberating off of the bookcases. While I had been envious of him my entire life, I'd endured more instances than one can handle as the sole object of his humor. As a small girl he had tortured me in every way possible, from putting frogs in my pillow case to entirely convincing me once that I had gone invisible, totally disappeared. Our relationship was not always pleasant, but he was there for me whenever I needed him.

"Now, can't I give you a genuine gift without issue?" his eyes still danced with laughter.

"Is there a genuinely dead rat in that box, or did you finally come up with something new? Because if not, this is old. You'll not send me screaming through the halls. Not this time."

His features were set alight by the candelabra on the table before us, and in that moment I could see that though he humored me, he was serious. I felt special: maybe newly married life had changed him, softened him in some way.

"Relax, dear girl," he said, urging the box into my hands. "Go on, open it."

I looked the box over before moving to open it. I shook it slightly, felt the weight of it in my hands. "Too heavy to be a rat," I quipped. "Must be a barn cat….wherever did you find one with all of the mabari running around?"

"Go on," he beseeched. His face was pleasantly exasperated as finally I relented. My fingers slid over the ribbon, tugging at the ends. I fumbled with the clasp on the box, unable to get it open. "Maker's kneecaps," Fergus groaned. "Shall I help you or would you like to block off the rest of the month for the task? I've got the time."

As I scoffed at Fergus, the clasp slid free. Hurriedly, I pried the top of the box open and gasped at what I saw inside. On a bed of deep burgundy satin laid two blades side by side. Both were relatively plain, but their hilts shimmered in the candle light with gold inlayed in the guard, and the grip wrapped in the softest leather I'd ever touched. The blade on the left was over two feet in length, and its smaller twin, a generously sized dagger. My heart skipped a beat.

"James," Fergus began, beaming, "Since I have played out many of my best jokes, scared you insanely silly, and gathered Ferelden's oddest and slimiest creatures to place in your shoes the customary eight hundred and seventy-six times, it is now my duty as the future head of this household to _most graciously_ initiate you into the fine art of brandishing a sword. Or in your case, swords. Well…those are more like kitchen knives, but you catch my meaning."

"Oh, _Fergus,_ " my heart was nearly beating out of my mouth. "Do you mean it, truly?"

"Perhaps one day you will replace me, as you could eventually be 'next-in-line' so to speak, and I must do my duty and educate you on your endeavor into weaponry, as father once did for me," he paused with a smirk. "Truly."

I felt like bursting, I was so happy. I ran my fingers over the hilt of the dagger, wrapped my hand around the leather, and quickly picked it up out of the box. It was heavy in my hand, and my arm grew tired after holding it for only a few moments. 

"Weighs more than a stick, I'd wager," he retorted, and while there was wit behind his statement, his eyes acknowledged this as some sort of rite of passing. "To be fair, James, I'd have given them to you sooner, if it had been solely my decision. But you know, mountains don't move in a day in Highever."

"Did father ask you to do this?" I inquired, raising my eyes casually from the dagger. Admittedly, I was very curious.

"Partly," Fergus conceded. "But it was King Maric who mentioned it to me in conversation after the wedding. _King Maric,_ of all people. I thought it was a grand idea, but it still took father some convincing. He worries about you, you know."

"Yes," I exhaled. "I know it well. I don't blame him, not at all…but sometimes I do wonder why he's so stubborn. He must always have his way, I suppose."

Fergus walked over to a window, glancing down at the town below. The lanterns were still hanging in the streets from his wedding feast, and they glimmered in the moonlight like fireflies caught in a jar. Fergus breathed deeply, his shoulders lowering slightly as if was releasing something he'd been holding in for awhile.

"That's too true," Fergus said quietly, pausing for a brief moment. "And I know it best out of us all. Oriana didn't want me to give those to you either, said it was improper for a lady to fight at all, let alone fight a man with swords."

I wondered at him, gazing at him as though I'd never seen him before. I had come to Fergus as a young girl frightened in the night many times, terrified of what I saw in my dreams, and he'd always known what to say to make me feel better. Even though he had also spent an equal sum of time terrorizing me, I had never once heard him say an ill word against our father. Not once.

"How did you do it, Fergus?" I asked, needing to know the answer.

"Do what?" his eyes turned to me, the fire inside them fading to an ember.

"Marry someone you'd never met before just because father wanted you to," I added softly. "Without even a question…how did you do it?"

"Oh that," he said smoothly. "I'll tell you a secret, one that will get you far in this life that we share. I serve father, the teyrnir, with loyalty and trust because that is what they have shown me. I know father would never have married me to a woman who was not, in some way, compatible with me. Why would he? There was no need to question it, and for her differences such as they are, you must admit that Oriana is quite handsome...for an Antivan."

With a glance from Fergus, some part of me began to feel lighter. He was worthy of my envy, I realized: where I was willful, he was knowingly obedient. He knew somewhere inside of himself that father did his best to please us as he could. Fergus could've argued the point to death, as I would have, and caused the family, and perhaps the teyrnir, some undue grief. Instead, he quietly accepted and understood why father made the decision regarding his own marriage, and trusted that he'd be rewarded. That was the display of love father deserved.

"Now who's going to burn down the castle with their thoughts?" Fergus chuckled from the window. I sighed heavily, throwing a nearby book at him, which he dodged nimbly, making a run for the door. When he got there, he stopped briefly with his hand lingering on the knob.

"You resemble him so much, but you're blind to it," Fergus offered gently without turning around. "He is proud of you, James, but you're both too stubborn to walk in each other's shoes. Go easy on him, please. He has cause to want you protected, and he really does want to see you happy."

"Thank you, Fergus, for that lovely display," I nodded. "You've gone soft since your wedding."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," he said jovially as he left me to admire my gift. "I expect you to be up bright and early tomorrow in the courtyard. Ser Gilmore and I have a lot to teach you, and I know what kind of student you are."

" _Goodnight._ " I sighed, staring at the closed door. While my voice held annoyance, the only expression on my face was pure happiness.


	4. In the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the moments before her first ball, James thinks about how fast Thedas is changing.

The work of man and woman,  
By hubris of their making.  
The sorrow a blight unbearable.  
\- Threnodies 7:11

Over the years I became engrossed in learning all I could about swordplay. Though, for as much time as I devoted each morning to sparring with Fergus (who would eventually pass me off to Ser Gilmore, a knight in Father's service a few years older than me and by far much more experienced), I gave an equal amount of effort to culturing myself under mother's tutelage. Everyday she bade me to carry myself as a noblewoman, softly spoken and diplomatic. I tried my hardest, somehow managing to keep my sarcasm to a minimum. I had calmed down immensely since my childhood years, at least to the untrained eye: I think it was Father indulging me and my love of swords that made everything else tolerable. Mother would tell you that my crowning achievements were my singing voice and my talent with a harp, but I think Father would concede that they were most certainly my superior sense of diplomacy, and, especially, my quick riposte following a parry. 

It seemed like I'd been thrown into being a lady overnight. Where I was scrawny and awkward in my youth, I grew into a woman and particular aspects of my body seemed to burst forth. My chest and hips filled in almost immediately, much to my own embarrassment. It was one thing to to become a woman, it was another to need special armor made because there was nothing in the castle armory that would fit all of my curves at the same time. For whatever reason, this overjoyed mother to no end.

I never realized how quickly my transition from childhood actually happened. It was as though I woke up one day, and everything had changed. Father had presented me at the Landsmeet about six months after my sixteenth birthday, which brought on an onslaught of attention from the parents of well-to-do suitors. I wasn't used to having everyone look at me, and even mother looked at me differently now. Instead of a teryn's daughter, I felt like a piece of meat being paraded around on a string. 

"Isn't this the dress you wore to the Landsmeet?" Mother asked, confusion taking over her tone. "I don't understand it! This fit you only a few months ago, and now there's no buttoning it over your hips!"

"Mother!" I gasped, mortified, wanting to go hide underneath my bed. 

"I'm sorry, dear," she attempted to stifle her laughter. "It's just that your womanly figure has seen fit to take too much of my advice, where the rest of you is still a little slow."

I sighed heavily, gazing at myself in the mirror. _Child bearing hips,_ I thought silently. That's what I'd overheard Mother terming them to Oriana as I'd walked past them in the corridor a few nights prior. As I walked by I overheard bits and pieces of their conversation. 

"She's very shapely, if nothing else," Oriana said, quieting her voice as I came within earshot.

"It's those child bearing hips," Mother countered in hushed tones. "And her chest, I don't know where she got _that_ from."

"At least her waist is small in comparison," my sister-in-law's lips curved into a smile. "And her hair is so lovely."

I blew past them, fuming, leaving the sound of their giggles in my wake. Everyone either found my body a source of endless humor or a standard to judge me against: it felt like another kind of cage to be trapped inside. I was constantly reminded that Anora Mac Tir, Teryn Loghain's daughter, was very slender, blonde, and perfect: she had managed to nab Prince Cailan a few years ago, formally at least. Their engagement had been set from birth, but it was clear that Cailan was very enthralled with the physically perfect and highly political teryn's daughter. We were two very different women, and after all, I had no interest in governing a country.

It's true, though, that my mother had been urging me for years to prepare for my womanly duties as both a noblewoman and someone's wife. While I'd been desperately attempting to avoid being introduced to court, my sixteenth birthday officially ushered in the expiration date of my childhood. I remember the discussion we had about presenting me at the Landsmeet half a year later, and how I begged for it to be delayed. I wasn't ready to give up the little world I'd built around Highever, especially since I'd finally found the happy balance I'd been avidly seeking. If men began making inquiries, attempting to strike up and advantageous match with me, I likely wouldn't be able to spar as much as I had been, if at all.…or spend as much time with Ser Gilmore.

"What about this one? Too much?" my mother's voice chimed from across the room, brining me back from my thoughts. I looked over my shoulder, seeing the dark green dress she held out in front of her. A wide, lively grin spread across her face, and I could see immediately what about this dress was "too much."

"You know Father will never allow that!" I said as my eyes widened. "That neckline is more revealing than _that_ dinner theater in Orlais!"

"Then it's perfect!" she beamed at her accomplishment, laying the dress down my bed. "The color compliments you, and it has laces so it will drape nicely in certain places and hug you where it should." 

I sighed heavily again, knowing there'd be no getting out of wearing that dress. She was convinced, and that's all it ever took for Mother to get what she wanted. If nothing else, she was a very confident woman. As my ladies-in-waiting began to help me dress, my mother looked over my figure again.

"Am I that unfortunate, Mother?" I asked sharply, very conscious of the scrutiny her eyes offered my body. Her features very clearly showed deliberation, that she was thinking, considering something very ardently in her mind. 

"Why should you think yourself unfortunate?" she replied, raising one eyebrow curiously.

"Your glances imply something unsatisfactory about me," I said, shifting, unable to raise my eyes to her.

"Oh, James, really," she smiled softly. "There's nothing _unsatisfactory_ about you, silly girl. I was simply considering your shape is all."

"Great," I sighed, dropping my shoulders, as the lady's maids all giggled. I braced myself for the barrage of comments concerning everything between my knees and shoulders, and this time I wouldn't let it hurt me.

"It's not like that at all," Mother countered. "You look in the mirror and see negativity, and I look and see a beautiful Cousland, very clearly. I've been looking at paintings of your great grandmother recently, and you resemble her remarkably. There haven't been any Cousland women in the family for quite some time, so I had nothing to compare you against."

Something in me sparked. I had always loved to think that some part of me was natural, a part of something mired in Cousland tradition, since so much of me had strayed from what the family had considered normal. 

"You're both very curvaceous women," she said, still looking me over. After a moment she met my eyes. "And that's a good thing."

I rolled my eyes immediately. I didn't understand how having huge hips that knocked over everything within arm's reach was meant to be a positive. As I stepped into the emerald colored dress, its soft fabric embroidered with copper thread caught my eye. I looked at myself from the ground up, holding my hair up and out of the way as my lady's maids laced me into it properly.

"You see," my mother smiled widely. "Perfection!"

"I still don't see how not being able to fit into normal clothing is a positive, Mother, and Maker, this dress is ridiculous" I glowered, smoothing my long hair over my shoulder. 

"Well, my love," she said quietly as she slipped toward the door. "Many men love women that have a little something to keep them occupied at night. You'll see how far a tight dress will get you, hopefully, soon enough."

"Mother!" I gasped again, so utterly horrified that I could feel the heat radiating off of my cheeks.

"I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes, darling," she laughed lightly as shut the door behind her.

As the last of the lady's maids left, I kept staring into the mirror, not sure of what I was searching for. My dress was so constricting that I could barely breathe, and I felt like my chest would spill out of it if I leaned too far forward. Even though the fabric was soft, its close proximity to my skin made me itchy after only a few minutes. I was so uncomfortable.

And yet, it made my waist look incredibly small. Running my hands over my sides, and examining my profile in the mirror, I had to agree that Mother was actually right. This dress _did_ compliment me, even if it tried to strangle all of the life out of me. I forced a smile on my face as I began to brush my hair, braiding tiny plaits at my temple and connecting them in the back. My hair fell into natural waves all the way down to my waist. It was proper enough to pass for Mother, but didn't require the hours of work that securing it on top of my head would take. Well, I might pass for a teryn's daughter, I thought at my reflection. If I don't talk too much…or bend over.

I pinched my cheeks twice, hard, gazing into the mirror, watching a rosy flush overcome them and inhaled deeply. I could hear the music from the great hall swelling up the corridors, and knew it was time to greet the endless line of nobles waiting to introduce me to their sons or widowed brothers. I thought I might vomit, but pushed everything down from my mind.

"This is what Father would want," I said, forcing a smile into the mirror one last time. I exhaled sharply, setting my shoulders back, and turned to exit. As I closed the door behind me, I felt a distant stranger to the girl I used to know.


	5. Between Continents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one thing that can make a ball tolerable.

And no longer was it formless, ever-changing,  
But held fast, immutable,  
With Words for all heaven and for earth, sea and sky.  
At last did the Maker  
From the living world  
Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the east,  
With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear,  
Endless possibilities.  
\- Threnodies 5:6

I stood in front of the great hall, and greeted every arl and bann's son from Amaranthine to the Anderfels: families came from as far away as Starkhaven, Nevarra City, and Hossberg. I had met so many people, fearing I'd never remember any of their names, let alone all of them. Some were interested, clearly, and others were just interesting. Those who saw me as an easy way to climb the social strata fawned all over me, much to my father's annoyance, and others, whose desire to be present was as small as my own, often provided sources of entertainment. In fact, one of the Nevarran nobles became so drunk after the receiving ceremony that one of the knights had to pull him out of the fountain outside, falling in twice himself.

As the last family was officially introduced, the dancing began and the ball was underway. I was immediately approached by several young men, some of their own volition and others being pushed by their mothers. I had really wanted to laugh, but the combination of my too-tight dress and their glances had made me uncomfortable.

"May I have this dance, Lady James," offered one.

"No, choose me, lady," another chimed in.

"Please, allow me to bring you a drin--"

"You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen," I interrupted quickly, growing nervous at the crowd around me. "I've just realized that I need to…go do something."

I walked off quickly, pawing through several eager suitors, nearly rushing into a server with a tray of champagne for the guests. I grabbed three glasses with an awkward smile as I maneuvered past him with as much grace as I could muster, gulping them down in quick succession. They were the first of many to follow. As Thomas Howe began to proceed in my direction, I noticed Ser Gilmore out of the corner of my eye: an escape, finally. As I crossed the room making my way towards him, I felt everyone's eyes burn into me, as they had all night. I couldn't stand the staring, unable to tell if they were undressing me in their minds or simply judging me. Finally, I approached Ser Gilmore, whose eyes were markedly fixed on his boots.

"Rory," I said softly, looking up at him, trying to catch his eye. While I was tall for a woman, he stood much taller than me, and I found myself silently wanting to close the gap between us.

"My lady," he replied, turning his gaze to me with a small smile. It felt like minutes passed as we stood there looking at each other taking each other in. His bright red hair and strong features stood out against his armor, and he looked so dashing. After a moment he continued with a gulp, "I'm surprised your father allowed you to wear that."

"Do you like it?" I smiled daintily. "Mother chose it for me."

"That'd explain it," he murmured, his cheeks turning pink. "It certainly is _something_." His eyes moved from my face to my chest and quickly back to my face again. I could hear him swallow again as he adjusted his breastplate nervously. His hands were extremely unaware of what they should be doing, unable to remain still. "Are you having fun, at any rate?" he asked, coughing slightly.

"Oh, Rory, could anyone have fun at these things?" I grimaced. "They're so terrible. Men looking at you, throwing themselves at you, expecting you to throw yourself at them! I can't stand it."

"Come now," he grinned, tilting his head lightly to the side. "Can you honestly say that you're not enjoying the attention even a little bit? Every man here is vying for your hand in marriage. They wouldn't be here if they weren't!"

I scoffed, raising my eyebrows at him. "Then why are you here, Rory?" His face flushed twice over as I reached for a glass from another passing server. I sipped quickly, smirking as Gilmore fidgeted in front of me.

"You know very well that I'm here to guard you and your family in case the worst should happen, Maker forbid," he regarded me softly, his cheeks now fully crimson. "Which I really should get back to, by the way. 

"Yes, well…I think I'd rather be you right now, no offense," my voice trailed, watching nobles dance about the hall in neat routine. 

"My lady, if I might offer you a word of advice," he remarked, perhaps a bit too strongly, after a moment. "It could always be worse. It might do you some good to go have fun and attempt to remember that. It's not like you're going to be married straight off tonight." He furrowed his brow attempting to gauge my reaction, and suddenly a wave of shame came over me.

_I know,_ I thought reluctantly. _But I could be soon. Much too soon._

I didn't like being chastised by Ser Gilmore: I'd have done anything to avoid him regarding me poorly. It was just that I'd felt so out of place, so on display, that all I wanted to do was run away until everyone was gone. I wondered if this is what the rest of my life would be like, my every move under surveillance. "Rory," I began, almost gingerly. "May I speak to you later, after your watch is over tonight?"

"Do you think that's wise, my lady, with all of the people staying at the castle?" Immediately he brought his gaze to meet mine, and he smiled softly. 

"I'm not feeling like myself, and I think discussing it might help. You're the only person who won't make fun of me, and I value your opinion perhaps more than any other," I offered honestly. For what it was worth, I couldn't have meant my words more than at that precise moment. His face softened, gazing down at me.

"I'm honored," he revealed, grinning. "Of course I'd be happy to listen to whatever you have to say, you know that."

"Then meet me just outside the chapel after your watch. I'll keep an eye out for the guards to change, and I think that'll be late enough to avoid prying eyes and ears, don't you?"

"Yes," he remarked, still grinning wildly, " _my lady._ "

It was unlike Ser Gilmore to be cheeky, as he was quite normally very reserved, even a bit shy. He was the kind of person who had a sense of humor, though it was quite gentle. He was kind beyond everything else, and it took him a great many weeks to acclimate to sparring with me without making me feel like he was taking it easy on me. That's not to say that he didn't win, as I had yet to best him, but he was very supportive in that regard. Maybe it was his emphasis that reminded me of truly how much he did make me feel like a lady.

"Well, then, _Ser Gilmore,_ " I returned just as boldly. "Until later."

"As you wish," he replied, his voice low, sending a chill down my spine. I'd never heard him speak that way, and I let the thought of it take over for a moment. Could it be…was that desire I heard in his voice?

As I left Ser Gilmore to his watch, my father eyed me from across the room with one eyebrow raised. I knew this look very well: I'd encountered it on several occasions seriously and at least once a day in a playful way. Father was stationed amid a group of older arls and banns who were only interested in drinking and discussing politics of the realm, and I could hear bits of their conversation surfacing just over the jovial music increasing in the background as I advanced toward them.

"…Arl Eamon…unsure of…did you hear?"

"No….why ever would he…do you think…boy to the Chantry..." 

"I would…doesn't seem smart….not with--"

"Ah, Pup," my father regarded me instantly as soon as I was within sure earshot. "My, you look…comely this evening." His tone was a few shades less than serious as he looked me over.

"Thank you, Father," I replied with a small smile and curtsy. "Mother took great pains in making me presentable." 

"Of that I have no doubt," he asserted, laughing loudly for a moment before addressing his compatriots. "Pup, you know Arl Howe well, but have you had the pleasure of speaking with rest? Arl Bryland, Arl Kendells, Bann Sighard, you'll remember my daughter."

"My Lords," I curtsied again. "I apologize for my inattentiveness: I'm afraid my first ball has been a touch overwhelming for me."

"Your father says you're more skilled with a sword than sewing needle," Urien Kendells chuckled. "Perhaps you'd rather measure our sons on the battlefield?"

"Yes," Rendon Howe added with a forced laugh of his own. "I'm afraid my Thomas stands no chance in either regard, if young James gets her way. She is determined, if nothing else."

"That she is," My father exclaimed proudly. "And if she takes after her mother at all, I don't see her settling down anytime soon. I know I'll not force her, Maker help me."

"Our poor sons," Bann Sighard smiled. "Is there no hope for any of them? Not even my Oswyn?" They all looked to me simultaneously as I realized how Ser Gilmore must have felt only minutes ago. My hands fumbled at small tendrils of hair hanging at my shoulders. What could I say to them? 

"I…well…" I started, trying to get out some words of reassurance.

"I think you have your answer, gentlemen," my father said, placing his hand on my shoulder. I diverted my gaze to the floor to avoid their looks, their laughter, as a great fire rose in my cheeks. How embarrassing, I thought.

"Pup," Father continued. "Won't you make an effort to humor these old men, and give them a fleeting moment of hope for their sons? Or if you won't dance, will you at least sing for us or play something? We could use some excitement!"

"I…" I began to protest but resigned quickly. "Yes, father. Of course. Excuse me, my Lords."

I strung together a long line of curses under my breath, storming over to the harp stationed in the front of the hall. As I threw myself down into the chair and began to pluck its strings, I could feel all eyes turn to me. Amid the arpeggios and soft melody emitting from the harp, my own thoughts began to take over as I lost myself in the song.

_If this is what life is going to be like,_ I thought, _Maker help me._


	6. Hands Held in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Gilmore and James meet in the castle chantry, and things escalate quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some initial mildly steamy bits to tide you over until things get rolling with Alistair later. : ]

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
In my arms lies Eternity.  
\- Andraste 14:11

 

The prospect of more balls inherently made me uneasy, and if this one had been any indication of what I might expect in the future, I'd gladly go my entire life without attending another.  I'd endured everything from having my feet stepped on countless times as I danced with young, nervous noblemen to the awkward flirtation issued by the same young men at their parents' urging. One had even nearly spilled his drink all over me in a miserably failed attempt at trying to touch my hand. It was terrible, and the only aspect of formal court functions that made them tolerable at all was being able to drink some, myself.  

It was all I could do to remain calm until the ball ended, and I snuck several more glasses of champagne to keep myself from imploding.  As soon as I was able, I excused myself, hurrying up to my room.  I wondered what I should do, if I should change my clothes or leave on the dress that made me feel so uncomfortable.  I didn't want to look as though I was vying for attention, but the look on his face when he saw me, the way his cheeks flushed, convinced me.  I wanted him to see me, alone, and I wanted to see his reaction one more time.

Finally I snuck to the far end of the castle, keeping watch vigilantly at the far end of the corridor for what seemed like hours until the guards switched and passed the chantry door.  As I arose and moved for the door, something tugged at my heart.  _What if Rory was just being nice_ , I thought. _What if I go and make a fool of myself, and he never wants to speak to me again?_  

I had to know for myself, and I silently made my way towards the chapel entrance.  I slipped past several sets of guards, some of which seemed too drunk to guard anything except their own drinks, and moved deftly down the corridors and past the great hall.  When I reached the chapel, Rory stood there, looking about apprehensively, just inside the door.

"Are you alright, " I asked quietly, and Rory jumped at the sound of my voice. He took several deep breaths in and gazed at me pretty pointedly.

"I am now, thank the Maker.  You shouldn't sneak up on man with a sword like that," he sighed, almost laughing. 

"I know you wouldn't hurt me, Rory," I said hopefully.  His eyes softened for a second, looking as though he realized something he had not expected.  In that moment I realized something, too: he had changed from his formal armor into a pair of snug wool breeches and a lightweight tunic. _Andraste, his pants are tight,_ I thought, swallowing hard, willing the thought from my mind.

"Yes, well," he said as he closed the door, motioning toward the pews.  "Shall we?"

As we looked for a place to sit, the moonlight shone down through the windows softer than a Chantry candle, making it barely light enough to see without falling over.  A few stars twinkled in the sky, and I looked out at them asking for strength to speak to Ser Gilmore frankly.  I knew I was going to need it, regardless of how much I'd had to drink. We walked down past the the back row of pews, in past the floral garlands lining the seats, and even though there was some moonlight, that didn't mean navigating the aisle came without its issues.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rory walked straight into one of the unlit, tall candelabras halfway down the aisle, and I giggled softly. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?" he finally spoke, clearing his throat. I could almost feel his eyes narrowing.

"What?" I asked, still laughing. "About walking face-first into a candelabra?  As humorous as that--" My foot caught a fold in the aisle runner covering the stone floor, making me stumble forward, and before I could think to try to steady myself, Rory was in front of me, catching me in his arms.  As I looked up into his eyes, the patchy moonlight seeping down through the windows caught some of his features handsomely.  I gasped softly, glancing away quickly.

"Are _you_ alright?" the concern in his voice almost took me aback. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"I, uh…" My mind was blank, and all I could see was Rory's face.  "My ankle is a little sore," I managed.

"Let's have a look at it once we sit you down, okay?" his hand met my chin, raising my glance to meet his.  He was smiling, genuinely concerned about me.  I couldn't help but smile back and nod in agreeance. He offered me his arm and helped me walk toward the front of the chapel.  As I shifted my weight to compensate for my ankle, I realized that I must have twisted it more than I had anticipated.  The pain jolted up my leg, and I fell fully to the ground this time.

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry," Rory fumbled over himself, offering me one hand smoothing his hair back with the other.  "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this," he said, furrowing his brow.

"At what?" I asked quietly, my heart racing in my ears.

"Nothing," his voice caught in his throat as he helped me up.  He all but carried me to the front row, despite my protests.

"I can walk, Rory, put me down," I said firmly.  "I'm not helpless, and it's only steps away.  You act like I've lost my leg."

"I know, but you've _obviously_ been drinking: I can smell it on you, " he sighed, setting me down softly on the cold, hard pew.  As I situated myself, I fidgeted, trying to get as comfortable as possible.   "May I?" Rory gestured down to my ankle.

"Of course," I answered, raising the hem of my dress up to my calf.  His hands reached out to touch my ankle, stopping just short.  His fingers curled in, stretched out, and then fell again, almost defeated.  He took another deep breath, exhaling slowly, as he reached out and felt my ankle.  His touch was extremely gentle, and it reminded me of someone tending to a bird with a broken wing the way he cradled my ankle tenderly in his hands.  He gazed at it for a moment, running his fingers over my silk stocking absent-mindedly.

"So what's the prognosis?" I smiled, leaning in toward him.  "Will I live?"

"I should think so," he said, placing my ankle back down and moving to sit beside me. "I can't see it very clearly in the dark, but it appears as though you've just strained it."

We both sat on the pew silently for a few minutes, looking up into the sky from a nearby window.  It was a beautiful night, and a warm breeze whispered through the trees.  As the crickets chirped just outside, I turned to him, admiring both his strong, handsome features and the pure gentleness of him.  It was clear that he was hesitant about touching something as demure as my ankle, and the thought of it filled me with pride.  He was the kind of perfect gentleman that I knew I'd never find at a ball or at court.  

"Can I ask you something, Rory," my voice emerged amid the stillness surrounding us.

"Isn't that why we're here?" he smiled down at me.  "You know you can ask me whatever you like."

"Do you think…" I began but stopped after a moment, too afraid of his response. "Oh, nevermind."

"You can't possibly be doing this right now," he said, both his smile and his voice faltering.   

"What are you talking about?" my eyes narrowed and the fear crept up in my chest.  He was about to tell me how juvenile I was, wasn't he?  He was going to call me a child and tell me to go back to my room, I could feel it.  What would a man like Rory want with a silly girl like me?

"You walk up to me at the ball, knowing very well that I'm below your station and can't publicly speak to you at those sort of things without you addressing me first," he blurted out, his eyes drilling into me. "You did it so casually, and I couldn't help but stare you in that dress.  I agreed to meet you down here, knowing that I shouldn't, that I could get in serious trouble with Fergus or worse, your father.  Yet, here I am, waiting for you to ask me some infernal question, knowing it won't be the one I want you to ask me."

The words spilled from his mouth like a forest fire down a mountainside.  The look on his face as he spoke was full of confusion, maybe a little pain.  I was almost shocked at the way he gazed at me, like I'd promised him the world and robbed him with a dagger pressed to his neck at the same time.  

"There," he finished after a pause.  "I said it."

"And what question might that be, Rory?" I asked, raising my eyebrows slightly.

"Maker's breath," he cursed lightly. "You know I can't say it out loud. I--"

"If you can't say it, how am I supposed to?  All I wanted to know, Rory, was if you thought I was…I don't know, attractive.  I feel so clumsy, and it was clear from every nobleman's son at the ball that they were either forced to engage in stupid pleasantries with me or fell all over themselves because I'm the teyrn's daughter…not because--"

"You can't really be this oblivious," he interrupted, smoothing a rogue strand of my hair back behind my ear.  His hand fell slightly down to my cheek, and his calloused thumb reached out, stroked the soft skin beneath it. "Of course I think you're beautiful.  You're gorgeous! Have you missed what an idiot I am around you?  I just walked straight into a candleabra not even five minutes ago because I am so distracted by you."

"I thought that was just part of your _charm_ ," I said, nuzzling my face into his hand. 

"A result of _your_ charm, I'm afraid," He said as I realized how close we were to each other.  His own face was nearly inches from my own.

"And, if I might be so bold," I continued, looking up at him from beneath my eyelashes. "Dare I inquire again as to what question you wanted me to ask you?"

He braced himself physically in such a way that was terribly endearing, setting his shoulders firmly while looking away from me.  Whatever he was about to say was something that he'd clearly been thinking a lot about and hadn't spoken out loud to anyone.  He wrestled with his thoughts for a second, and I could tell that he wanted to say whatever was on his mind, but something was holding him back.  "Unless you don't want to," I sighed into his hand, still lingering at my cheek.

"I wanted you to ask me if I'd kiss you," he said, his eyes returning to search my own. "I have wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you pick up a sword.  It's selfish of me to want that, knowing it could never turn into anything more, and..."

"Yes?" I swallowed, leaning forward, my eyes wide.

"And…" he hesitated. "You've been drinking."

"What are you trying to imply, Rory?" I said tilting my head back slightly. "That you're above kissing me because I've had enough champagne to give me the courage to kiss you back?"

"I--," he stammered, his eyes almost pleading with me. 

"Then what?" I demanded.  "What's stopping you, you silly dolt?"

In that instant he pulled me close to him and pressed his lips softly against mine.  He slipped a hand behind my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, as the other fell and rested at my waist.  Instinctively, my own hands rose to his face, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss.  My heart soared as his softness grew into hunger, kissing me with a sense of ferocity, of desperation. 

After a moment, I pulled back, needing a moment to breathe.  "Rory," I managed, my voice low and brazen.  "My heart is going to beat a hole in my chest, I think."

"You, my lady?" he leaned in very close, whispering in my ear.  His lips brushed against my skin as he spoke. "I find that very hard to believe."

"Then see for yourself," I said, the coarseness in my voice rising, as I grabbed his hand at my waist, lifting and pressing it to my chest.  I could feel his cheeks on fire as he moaned lightly in my ear, trailing kisses from my jaw back to my mouth, his hand still pressed to my chest.

In one swift motion, he pulled me up into his lap, nearly without my noticing.  As I eased into his embrace, his tongue parted my lips, slightly at first and then with more diligence.  I had never been kissed before, let alone like this, and I felt more drunk on his kisses than anything else.  I let the feeling wash over me, heat starting to gather in the pit of my stomach.  

I ran my hands through his copper hair, making a mental note to remember how soft it was.  He smelled like cold river water, crisp and clean, and as he lowered his head, kissing my clavicle, I inhaled sharply against his hair.  He chuckled softly, kissing his way back up my neck until I gently exhaled into his ear.  I could feel him shiver against me.

He pulled back this time, swallowing hard as his eyes took in the sight of me.  "We have a choice to make, it seems," he said, his voice giving away his own brashness.

"Oh?" I cooed, looking up at him with my best doe eyes.  As we gazed at each other, breathing heavily, I realized that I had somehow had ended up straddling his lap, one leg on either side of his.  I shifted my weight in his lap, just enough to remind him that I was there.

"You're not making this easy," he said breathily, looking down into my eyes. 

Though I had not intended to kiss Rory that night, a thought that had resembled a wish or dream more than reality, I couldn't say that I was ready to stop.  Everything inside me wanted him to continue kissing me until I melted away.  

"Oh, please," I offered softly.  

Immediately he swept me up in another flurry of hot, desperate kisses.  His mouth pressed against mine with need.  As I pulled his face closer, he used his fingers to pull at the hem of his tunic, and I kept kissing him even as he managed to maneuver his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground.  I felt the heat coming off of his chest, his heart pounding like mine, and I found my hands exploring those places previously forbidden to me: his chest and stomach were hard as stone, and my fingers slid over them with a deft confidence.  As he tried to move back a little, I caught his lower lip between my teeth, biting down on it gently.

His hands fumbled with the laces on the back of my dress, as he whispered his plea for permission against my cheek.  As they loosened, the sleeves of my gown glided down past my elbows, revealing nothing underneath but smooth skin. As he momentarily gazed at me, his eyes drinking me in, I realized that I'd forgone any smallclothes from the waist up in order to "accentuate my assets," as mother put it.

"Do you--" 

"Yes," he quickly interrupted, pushing my sleeves lightly past my wrists, uncovering most of my body in the moonlight, silencing me with his salacious kisses.

Before my mind could process the gravity of the situation, being almost completely naked in front of Rory, in front of anyone for the first time, he pulled me closer, slipping one hand around the small of my back: I felt a sudden rush of warmth, his desperate kisses at my neck that left me swimming in helplessness, gasping for air as I clung to him. His free hand grasped at mine, pulling it down below his waist, pressing it against the building pressure, the trembling fire in his breeches. I gasped sharply, unexpectedly, as his fingers crept up to my breast, kneading it softly at first, evoking such fevered feelings I didn't know I was capable of.  

As his hand grew bolder, more intimate at my chest, the chantry door swung open with a sudden crack.  Before I realized what was happening, or could even cover myself to preserve any of my dignity, Mother Mallol stormed up to us with a startled fury that could conquer nations.

"What exactly _in the name of the Maker_ do you think you both are doing?! _In his house?!_ " Mother Mallol spat furiously. "This perversity, _this filth_ will not be tolerated! By God, get yourselves decent and come with me: the teryn will want to know about this." I frantically grasped at my dress, covering myself as best I could having no help to pull or tie the laces, while Rory hurriedly recovered his shirt and miserably tried to hide his erection as Mother Mallol paraded us up through the corridors, past all the guards at their stations.

" _Hurry, both of you_ ," she sneered, grabbing my arm harshly and pushing me forward until I almost tripped. 

Tears began to surge quietly down my face, first in small rivulets and finally in torrents as I thought of father's imminent reaction. He would undoubtedly be livid, fit to be tied, and while I was worried about myself, my heart sank gravely at the thought of what could happen to Rory.  I was sure I'd never see him again.

"Mallol, I'm sorry, please--" I sputtered until her hand caught me across the face, sharply.

"Do not address me so informally," she said, enraged. "The thought of you utterly _disgusts_ me.  Keep your apologies for the Maker, and pray that he hears them: I _will not_."

As Rory and I approached mother and father's bedroom, a grievously remorseful and ashamed pair, Mother Mallol knocked fervently at the door. When father answered and stepped outside, he was much less than amused. When I cried myself to sleep later that night, I laid in bed, desolate and alone, and while I hadn't dreamed in as long as I could remember, that voice that so often haunted me as a child, laughed low in my sleep, as soft as distant thunder, until I woke up the next day.


	7. When the Day Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of nowhere, Highever seems to be turning upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I'm breaking into DA:O material. I'm trying to stick to some original dialogue and plot, so you'll see some of that here. I'm half done with the next chapter, too, so that should be up for you quickly! Thank you SO much for bookmarking & kudos: you guys rock! : ]

In the absence of light,  
Shadows thrive.   
\- Threnodies 8:21

To say that my father's reaction to my short-lived romantic encounter with Rory was unpleasant would be an understatement. While I sat on their bed, sobbing into mother's arms, father stood outside their room, literally screaming at the top of his lungs. He threatened Rory with everything from exile to dismemberment. Eventually father calmed down, realizing that not much had actually happened, but it was a very long time until Rory and me were allowed in each other's company again at all.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking part of it all was knowing that Rory felt as though father had given him an opportunity and a home he'd not have had on what he often called his "glorified farmstead" in the Bannorn, and Rory secretly felt that deep down that he'd betrayed father. In the months following, anytime I was able to steal a glance at him, it was written all over his face. I was just as miserable, somber, and lonely, resigning myself to the fact that Rory would never risk talking to me again, let alone touch me. I'd lost my best and only friend, and for years the loneliness burned a hole in my heart.

Though, as fate would have it, the years also passed quickly, and while I was subject to the same political and personal lessons that mother administered, I was still allowed to practice sparring with Fergus. I'd almost accepted the fact that I'd never be close with Rory again, that is until Duncan, commander of the Gray Wardens arrived seemingly out of thin air.

What changed father's mind, I'll never know: perhaps it was the fact that he and Fergus were summoned by King Cailan to Ostagar at a moment's notice, and with mother's plans to visit Lady Landra, he hadn't looked far enough into the future to realize that we'd be alone at length. Perhaps he trusted Rory again, at last, to keep the castle safe in his absence: Rory had grown into a warrior of great skill, after all. Or maybe, just maybe, he finally saw me as an adult, capable of making my own choices. Either way, I could hardly stifle my excitement. Until now, my interactions with Rory had been highly limited, we'd barely said more than hello to each other in passing, but now the possibilities were nearly endless. Now all I had to do was pass the time until father and Fergus left.

On the day that Duncan arrived, there was a feeling of mania about the castle: between the soldiers scrambling, preparing to march to Ostagar and the conjecture behind Duncan's arrival, the castle walls seemed to buzz with an uneasy excitement. The rumor was that I'd keep track of the castle while everyone else was away, and the thought both thrilled and terrified me. While it meant that I'd finally get to salvage my relationship with Rory, it also meant that I had to make sure the castle didn't burn down while father was away; though, I wasn't entirely sure I could manage either.

To take my mind off of the imminent responsibility, I trained in the courtyard and tried my hardest to distract myself. With each thrust of my sword, each rush of my dagger at the straw dummies, it began to work, and I lost myself a little more with each following swing. Soon, I'd worked up a sweat, glistening slightly in the high afternoon sun that made my practice gear stick to my skin uncomfortably, just a bit more than usual. I was in my own little world when I took a break, emptying some of my waterskin over my head, letting it stream down my face, raking it through my hair, when the shuffling of feet behind me caught me off guard.

"My lady?" a familiar voice sounded.

"R--Ah, Ser Gilmore," I gasped awkwardly, louder than I'd meant to, dropping my canteen to the ground. "I, what is it? Did you need something?" _Good_ , I thought to myself, _amazing second chance, you bumbling arse._

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your father is looking for you, and since I wasn't busy like the rest of the soldiers, I offered to fetch you." His voice was emotionless, sterile, too placid. I narrowed furrowed my brow for a second, confused and almost hurt by it, but quickly pushed the feeling away.

_There will be time to dissect this later_ , I thought, shaking my head.

"Of course not," I finally answered with a small, forced smile, as I smoothed wet strands of long, auburn hair back behind my ears. "I'll go immediately. Where might I find him?"

"He's in the great hall with Arl Howe, making the last of the preparations for their journey to Ostagar," he offered politely.

_You don't even care, do you?_ The thought made it hard to breathe.

My body wilted slightly, and my shoulders sank almost as low as my heart as I walked past him, nodding gently. "Well, duty calls, I suppose. Thank you, Ser Gilmore, that will be all."

"My la…" his voice trailed off as I made my way into the castle quickly, in broad strides. As I made my escape, I wanted to turn around, to see the look on his face, to hear him out, but I didn't dare. I knew that if I had, I'd have lost my composure, and I'd already made a fool out of myself enough for one afternoon. Swallowing the building tears, driving them down, I made my way through the main gate and past the chantry as if on the wings of a griffon: I couldn't forget this situation quick enough.

As I entered the great hall, father stood talking to Arl Howe about the delay of Howe's soldiers and their glory days fighting the Orlesians. I stood quietly, unnoticed, behind them for a few moments until I cleared my throat: both turned around with a start, catching my apprehensive smile.

"I'm sorry, Pup. How long have you been standing there?" father asked surprised. "Howe, you remember my daughter."

"I see she's become a lovely young woman," he said, his smile and voice both as slimy as ever. I'd never cared for Rendon Howe: the older I got, the more I felt he was undressing me with his eyes. "Pleased to see you again, my dear."

"And you, Arl Howe," I answered quickly, producing some response that resembled politeness. "Father, you needed me?"

"Yes, your brother is riding out with our forces today, but the Arl and I will lead his men tomorrow--"

"My son, Thomas, asked after you," Howe interjected, cutting father short. "Perhaps I should bring him next time." The more he spoke, the more sinister his presence became. I generally didn't like to be around him at all, let alone entertain thoughts of being even remotely romantic with Thomas: he was more of an idiot than I was around Rory, which was truly saying something. For Nathaniel, when I was much younger and less aware of Howe's plain nastiness, I may have thought to consider it, but never, ever with Thomas. The thought made me overwhelmingly sick to my stomach, made my skin crawl.

"Oh, there's no need," I said calmly, raising my eyebrows in father's direction as a plea for help. He knew I had absolutely no intention of marrying anyone at the moment, especially not Thomas Howe. "I've got quite enough to contend with, thank you."

"See what I am forced to deal with, Howe?" father chuckled sympathetically. "There's no telling my fierce girl anything these days, Maker bless her heart."

"No doubt because you've trained her as a warrior," Howe added with a tone of malice. "how _unique_."

At that, father shook his head, blinking hard and obviously annoyed. "At any rate, Pup, I've summoned you for a reason. While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

"So there is truth to that rumor," I sighed heavily. "Of course, I'll do my best, father. I'll make you and mother proud."

"Now that's what I like to hear," father smiled genuinely as Howe rolled his eyes just beyond father's periphery.

_Really, you git_ , I thought pointedly, still maintaining my polite smile. _Let me see you do that on a battlefield. I'll wear your intestines for stockings_.

"There's also someone you must meet," father gestured toward the door. "Please, show Duncan in."

"Duncan? The _gray warden commander_?" my internal anger gave way to curiosity and some degree of astonishment. I hadn't ever met a gray warden in person before, though I'd heard countless tales about them. I'd idolized them as a child, and as he entered the hall, Duncan looked every bit the part I'd imagined a gray warden to be. "I'd heard he was here, but I thought Fergus was just teasing me."

"It is an honor to be a guest in your home, Teryn Cousland," Duncan offered courteously. "And on such short notice, it's much appreciated. The gray wardens are desperate for recruits, and your hospitality is most obliging."

The sight of Duncan blew me away: he was a man of about fifty, darkly complected, and he looked a great deal fitter than most men his age, a great and real warrior. I felt no more than a child of six in front of him until I realized that he'd likely come to recruit Rory. Once it hit me, I immediately lost control of my thoughts. As father and Arl Howe exchanged banter over the protocol of inviting a guest of Duncan's stature into the castle, I took the opportunity to approach Duncan on my own.

"Ser, is it true that you're here to conscript Ser Gilmore," I asked impatiently, wringing my hands together while my heart leapt from my mouth. "I've heard that's why you've come. Is it true?"

"Well, my lady, truth be told, I've heard that you'd be an equally terrifying force on the battlefield, a skilled fighter to combat the darkspawn," he grinned almost assertively. "Though, I know your father wouldn't have it."

" _Quite right_ , I wouldn't," father cut off his conversation with Howe immediately, stepping directly between Duncan and myself. "I have no wish to send both of my children, especially my daughter, off to war, unless you plan to conscript her. I'm sure Eleanor would be positively devastated."

"It's far from my intention to force your hand, my lord," Duncan lightly held both of his hands up in front of his chest. "It's true, the gray wardens are in dire need of recruits, but I'll not risk your support over one soldier and take her from you unwillingly."

"That's what I'm afraid of," father knit his brow together, sighing. "There's no question at all in my mind that she's very willing and about to beg you to take her along. The Maker knows that better than all of us." Immediately father turned to see my hopeful, beaming smirk, meeting it with a solemn glower. "Pup, please go and tell Fergus I need to speak with him about Ostagar: he'll have to leave without us since Howe's men are delayed."

"But, I--"

" _Go_ , Pup," he articulated. "Do not make me ask you again."

I pursed my lips in protest, hoping that I might get some answer out of Duncan about Rory, but father gaze quickly turned to impatience. Normally I might have tested this a bit farther, but something strange was happening: maybe it was father's apparent annoyance with Howe and his delayed men or the fact that he had to leave Highever so hastily that didn't sit right with me. All of the excitement I'd felt earlier was rapidly beginning to turn sour. When I left the great hall in my quest to find Fergus, I'd nearly walked face-first into Rory on my second step out the door.


	8. Waiting for Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the darkness, there's a light: the calm before the storm.

Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker's will is written.  
\- Benedictions 4:11

 

After being chided by my father and mocked by Arl Howe, it was safe to say that my mood was less than sparkling.  On top of that, Duncan's manifestation in the castle made me  far less comfortable than I'd have hoped if only because I was certain he was going to recruit Rory.  What a day this was turning out to be.

As I pulled the side door to the great hall open with force, I failed to look up past the knob as I stormed out. Within three steps or less, I nearly rammed my face into Rory's chest, walking directly into him.  My anger and embarrassment boiled inside of me, rising into my cheeks.  I closed my eyes hard, pressed my lips together, and took one long, very deep breath.

"Ah, my lady, pardon me," Rory came to a dead halt. "I'm afraid I have another task for you, from your mother this time."

"I'm starting to wonder if you're my nanny or my squire, Ser Gilmore," the frustration in my voice bubbled to the surface as I tilted my head to the side, setting my jaw firmly, "but whatever it is will have to wait.  Father needs me to track down Fergus."

"I--my lady, _please,_ " he pleaded, grabbing my arm lightly as I tried to brush past him. "Don't be like this.  I'm not exactly crazy about the way things are either, but I _have_ to do as I'm asked."

As I glared up at him, swiftly wrenching my arm out of his hand, he gasped and nearly jumped back, stunned.  " _Fine._ What is it that I can do for you, Ser Gimore?" I was seething, the amount of hostility in my voice was shocking, even to me.  

"Your hound is loose in the larder again," he answered too quietly, his eyes unable to meet mine. "Your mother wants me to stay with you until you've retrieved him since Nan is threatening to leave the castle."

Immediately the regret set in: I could tell that Rory felt he'd severely misjudged the situation and was markedly unsure of what to do next.  He blinked hard, his shock fading into a small frown.  As Rory took a step back, looking down at his hands, I realized I'd taken my anger out on him.  Nothing was his fault or mine:  this was simply the situation we'd been born into.  

"I'm sorry, Ser Gilmore," I sighed softly. It was hard to think of everyone leaving me so suddenly, to finally have the freedom to be in charge and be left totally alone was bad enough, but losing Rory?  I didn't want to think about it. As I placed my hand lightly on his forearm, he glanced up and met my gaze as I nodded in the direction of the kitchen with as much of a smile as I could pull together. "I know Nan won't leave: she was my nanny before she was the cook, but let's go anyway. I love it when she has one of her fits." 

As we made our way to the kitchen to retrieve Beau, the mabari pup I was given as a consolation prize for being stripped of my friendship with Rory those years ago, we attempted to make small talk.  It was pleasant enough, at first, but grew strained quickly.  It was clear that we both had something on our minds but couldn't say it around those gathering in the castle corridors.  Seemingly to avoid the awkwardness, Rory quickly changed the subject.

"Did you know there's a gray warden recruiter here?" Rory asked, taken aback. "I heard he's here to conscript someone, but I wonder whom."

"It's you, I imagine," I tried to remain as poised as possible, but I felt myself beginning to shrivel up as he broached the topic. "I tried to ask him, myself, but he wouldn't give me a straight answer."

"Me? A _gray warden?_ " the awe in his voice was almost endearing. I could tell he was surprised and excited, that this was an honor, above all, that he wanted for himself.  Even if I wanted to beg him to stay, I knew I couldn't anymore. "I mean, I'd hoped, but I never thought--"

"Well, who else?  Honestly, Rory, it's about time you started believing in yourself--" I immediately stopped, realizing that I'd let conversation become casual.  I cleared my throat nervously, feeling myself shrink farther down, and started again, "Well, you have a great talent, and you'll get to follow your dream."

"One of them, anyway," he glanced down at me with a quiet smile as he opened the kitchen door.  

"It's about time you got here," Nan shrieked from the larder door. "Your mutt's in my larder eating my legs of lamb, no doubt!"  I had to laugh in spite of the situation: I always loved seeing Nan in an uproar.  It gave me endless opportunities to sass her, which had become one of my favorite pastimes over the years.

"Oh Nan, I'm positive it's not as bad as all that," I claimed light-heartedly. I knew if I tried to charm Nan as I did when I was a child, she'd eventually calm down.  "Why, I'd say it's merely conjecture: wouldn't you, Ser Gilmore?  It's not like she's gone in to actually assess the damages."  Rory gulped heavily, looking quickly from Nan to myself and back again, visibly unsure of whose side to take. While Nan was a force to be reckoned with, I, too, had learned a few tricks over the years.

"I'll give _you_ some damages to assess if you don't get that mutt out of my larder," she declared, advancing toward us with disturbing speed.  Nan was an amazingly sharp woman on a good day, but Maker, she was frightening when she got belligerent.

"But Nan," I pouted. "You love me too much to hurt me, and besides, Beauregarde is a terribly intelligent hound.  He's just checking the food to see if none of it's been poisoned.  Really, it's a service."

"I'm going to take a pan to both your skulls if you don't move and get him out _now_ ," she nearly growled, motioning towards both Ser Gilmore and myself.

"My lady, I really think we should--"

"Oh, fine, Ser Gilmore.  Come along," I said airily, beckoning him toward the larder. "Really, all this over a little dog."

Getting Beau out of the larder was easy enough, and I had to laugh knowing that he actually was in there for a right and just reason:  rats had dug their way into the larder, and he was trying to prevent them from getting into the castle proper.  I knew better to tell Nan, for fear that she'd have a heart attack and drop dead on the spot, but I imagined what her face would look like if she found out.  I nearly laughed out loud, but managed to keep a mostly straight face as Nan lectured me about keeping my hound restrained before letting Ser Gilmore and I get away unscathed.

"That was too close for comfort," Rory said, rubbing his neck anxiously as we led Beau out of the kitchen.  "She's a terror, isn't she?"

"Who, _Nan_?" I replied, scratching Beau's head fervently.  "Not at all.  She's like a mabari, really: all fury on the outside, soft puppy on the inside."

I bent down to rub Beau's cheeks as he whined in protest, making kissy faces at him.  He was a good dog, no matter what anyone said.  He'd been a loyal companion when I'd had no friends and had, perhaps, the most personality out of any one animal I'd ever met.  When I cried, he'd lay his head in my lap and let me stroke his soft ears.  When I was happy, he shared in my excitement.  In Rory's absence, Beau really had become my sole companion.

"Oh, who's a good boy?" I asked facetiously, riling Beau up.  He barked excitedly in reply, which merited a scratch behind the ears.  Beau nearly fell over from sheer happiness, and I heard Rory chuckle softly behind me.

"You're such good friends," he asserted with a grin. "It's good to hear you laugh."

I looked back and up at him over my shoulder, still rubbing Beau's ears.  "Well…" I trailed off. "It's been lonely, but I guess it could be worse." Rory's eyebrows knit together as he looked down at me.  He took a step forward and stopped, opening his mouth to say something; instead, he simply exhaled. "Are you alright?" I asked, watching him closely.

"Listen," he knelt down beside me to show Beau some affection, scratching Beau's chin as Beau began to drool wildly. "I can't believe I'm about to ask you this, but can I see you after dinner, anywhere?  I know we're not supposed to _fraternize_ , but with things changing around us so quickly, there's something I need to say to you."

"Meet me in the tall grass just past the servant's entrance?" I offered just a touch too quickly, my eyes wide and gleaming.  The world seemed to slow down in that moment, my heart soared on the swell of some inaudible melody, as our eyes met:  the look in his eyes reminded me of our younger years, full of promise, full of adventure.  We used to go there on hot summer afternoons, laying in the grass and watching the clouds, back when things were much simpler.

"Okay," he replied, rising with a childish grin.  "I have to go now, but, well, until then." His right arm extended, his hand giving a half wave as he walked away from me backwards, nearly falling over a stack of supplies a soldier was preparing for the march in a few hours.  I giggled fiercely as his cheeks took the color of wine.  Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

I passed the remaining time until dinner with a fluid ease.  I deftly dodged a conversation with mother and Lady Landra about her son, Diarren, whom I thought was trying just a little too hard to get my attention.  I found Fergus and informed him of father's plan, saying a very heartfelt goodbye as the rest of my family joined us.  It was the last chance we'd all get to be together, after all, since Fergus was leaving after dinner.

Dinner also went without much of a hitch: while Cousland conversation was a bit somber, with mother and Oriana acutely feeling the impending absence of father and Fergus, the soldiers were merry, singing songs and sharing drinks.  As my eyes scanned the hall for Rory, who sat amid the soldiers, I spied him at last sitting next to Duncan, who also preferred to dine with the soldiers than the visiting dignitaries.  I envied them momentarily, and the more I watched them the more Rory seemed to come alive: his face lit up and his gestures were increasingly animated.  All of the surrounding men were so busy shaking his hand or clapping him on the back that he barely had any time to eat, and I knew instantly that he'd been conscripted.  

While I battled with being happy for him and heartsick at the same time, mother chided me, "My dear, you're ogling again."

"Sorry, mother," I mumbled into my glass of wine without looking away.  This one time I didn't care what anyone thought.

As soon as dinner ended, I bolted through the kitchen, blowing past Nan so quickly that she nearly dropped a dessert, a rather fabulous looking brambleberry pie, square onto the floor.  I heaved open the larder door, flew down the stairs of the servant's entrance, and dashed into the tall grass with so little discretion that even the wildflowers were jealous. Taking in the beautiful hues of the fading sky, the rising lavenders and marigolds set against the periwinkle of the nearly declining day, I flung myself down, disappearing amid the tall blades of verdant grass.

With my arms laid out above my head and my dress up to my knees, I laid in the grass as it cushioned my body, holding me up out of the soft soil below.  I inhaled deeply as a cool breeze slid by, lazily caressing my cheeks and intermingling with my hair, while the sun idly began to dip toward the horizon. 

 _Fergus will be leaving soon,_ I thought fleetingly as I gazed into the sky, searching for the faint outline of the moon.  I knew he'd be alright, he had to be.  There was no doubt that Fergus was born to lead our countrymen, even if some preferred that I take over.  _And what a thought that is_ , I continued contemplating, _if you want to see Highever fall into shambles._

As the breeze continued to slip throughout the grass and down the hill, setting my hair in a fiery halo around my face, Rory parted the grass and sat down next to me.  There was an easy look about him, like he'd just been handed a very pretty prize or accomplished something impossible.  He was absolutely radiant, and the sunlight glimmered from behind his profile, fixing his features incandescently: he was absolutely breathtaking.

"Ser--"

"Oh, Rory, please," he pleaded with a smirk.  "There's no one here to hear you who will protest to that."

" _Well then_ ," I stated very matter-of-factly with a silly grin, "hello, Rory."

"Much better," his voice was lazy as he reclined effortlessly into the grass, looking up into the sky as I had been.  After a pause, he glanced over to me, his smile growing. "You were right, you know."

"Of course I was," I nodded. "But what about?"  

"Duncan wants me to join the gray wardens," he told me brightly. He seemed rather pleased with himself, and the excitement built up behind that statement was hard to miss.

"Oh?" I asked, failing miserably at sounding coy.  Of course Duncan wanted him to be a gray warden, he was a magnificent warrior.  Anyone with two eyes that had seen him spar would know that in an instant.

"He wants you, too, silly girl," he disclosed, nudging my side roughly with his elbow. "Actually, you're the real reason why he's here. I'm just a very close second."

" _Really_ ," I declared sarcastically, "you don't need to be a sore winner.  That's about the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"No, seriously," he maintained, rolling onto his side to face me, "let me try remember just how he said it. It went something like, 'unusually skilled fighter _for a girl_ , blah blah blah, oddly resilient, blah blah blah, something something diplomatic and well suited to lead.'" He raised his eyebrows, almost suggestively, throwing in a small nod as if to validate his poor account.

"Well, I was wrong. Did he add in 'extraordinarily pleasing and pretty to the eye' because then I know _that_ will have been the stupidest thing I've ever heard," I scoffed lightly, with a forced laugh.  He was just making fun of me, now.

"No, I took care of that, and while he said that wasn't necessary, we did both manage to agree that it was a strong bonus and the wardens would be better off for it," he retorted with a wicked smile.

" _Rory!_ " I gasped as surprise took over my face, and my hand bound out to smack him lightly across the shoulder.  My heart hastened in my chest, nearly pounding on my rib cage, as my breath raced to catch up.  I'd missed him more than I'd realized.

It was that thought that reminded me that he'd be leaving soon while I stayed behind as guardian and keeper of the realm in father's absence.  The emotions dueling in the pit of my stomach almost made me want to vomit: it was all too much.

"But you know father would _never_ allow it," I said, settling back into the grass again.  "It's a nice thought, but…"

"But?" he pressed me. "Are you always going to what your father wants you to do?"

"Haven't you?" I asked, turning my head to meet his gaze. 

"Touché," he replied, admitting defeat. After a moment, he reached over as he had so many times in the past, thoughtfully smoothing a long strand of wayward hair back over my cheek.  "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"This ought to be interesting," I said facetiously, smiling at him.

"Oh, ruin the mood why don't you?" he rolled his eyes, shaking his head lightly.  Had my anxiety not made me acutely aware of Rory's every move, I'd have missed the fact that his hands were trembling slightly at his sides, and everything about him in that moment was so terribly charming.  He was captivatingly lovely.

"Okay," I sighed lightly, closing my eyes. "I'm ready to be serious now.  Fire away."

Rory always had a way of taking me by surprise.  As soon as my eyes were closed, he leaned in suddenly, pressing his lips against mine.  I instantly gasped sharply and my eyes flew open, but for as quickly as the jolt of fortune took me, I just as rapidly melted into his kiss, letting my eyes drift closed again.

"I never wanted things to change," he spoke tenderly, raising his hand to my cheek, his thumb lightly stroking my cheekbone, "but that night, when Mother Mallol caught us, I realized a hard truth:  your father thought that I wasn't good enough for you.  You heard him, he did all but threaten to kill me himself, and why?  To protect you from me.  _From me._ "

"Oh, Rory," I murmured quietly as he pulled me close to him, into his arms.  I can't believe I'd missed it, that I'd been so focused on myself convinced that he didn't care.  What an absolute idiot I'd been.

"Shh," he silenced me, running a hand through my hair as I curled up into his chest. "Let me finish.  I knew at then that I'd have to do something magnificent to make myself worthy of you.  I dedicated myself to my duties, poured myself into my training.  I did as he bade for years in the hopes that he would see me as your equal, that out of love for you I'd do anything he asked of me."

"You love me?" I pulled away from him slightly, looking up into his tempestuous gray eyes as the first star twinkled daintily in the sky.  

"You have been listening all this time, right?" he chuckled faintly, folding me back into his arm.  I smiled ardently into his neck, breathing in the scent of his hair.  I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of his voice: I wanted to recall it perfectly.  "I think I've loved you from the first moment I saw you, all wild hair and wooden swords.  I was positive of it the night I kissed you, though."

"If that's not irony, I'm not sure what is," I drawled sleepily into his ear, still smiling.

"But," he started excitedly, "now things have fallen together nicely."  He leaned down slightly to kiss my hair as he held me.

"What do you mean?" I asked curiously, raising my eyes up to his face.  

"We can both be gray wardens," he asserted.  "We both know Duncan wants to conscript you, and the only thing holding him back is your father.  If you joined willingly, howev--"

I shook my head hurriedly, and interjected just as quickly. "Rory, I can't just abandon him as he goes off to war, I have responsibli--"

He met my interruption with another of his, a soft kiss that grew intently into something more.  The longer his lips were pressed to mine, the more my sense of reason fled: nothing in this moment made sense, but it felt right.  As he held me tightly, I thought that this was what I'd been missing.  With Rory, I felt like I belonged, like I was wanted.

And yet, there was a little voice inside me, nagging at me.  My sense of duty was nothing less than stifling, and while I tried to wrestle it back down, the harder I tried the louder it grew until I broke off the kiss, gasping for breath.

"Rory, I--"

"Run away with me," he blurted out before catching my mouth in tiny bursts of kisses. "Don't answer me now.  Meet me here again in the morning: tell me then."

Candlelight started to fill the castle windows, and only a tiny fragment of the sun hung on to the mountaintops.  I could hear the men lining up outside the main gate, songs of war filling the air, calling me back to reality.  As I quickly glanced in their direction, Rory gave me one last long, lingering kiss before sending me off to say my final goodbye to Fergus.

"Go, or you'll miss him," he said helping me up.  My legs were as dizzy as my head, and I nearly fell into Rory's arms.  He looked down at me almost reverently, as I smoothed my hair back into place, pulling pieces of grass off of my dress as I slowly backed away.  "Don't give me a chance to regret sending you off."

As I ran up to the castle, I stopped at the servant's entrance, looking back to Rory: though I could barely make him out in the twilight, his hands were behind his head as he reclined into the grass, whistling a tune into the night air.  

 _And why shouldn't I go with him?_ I wondered at him. _He loves me._


	9. Never Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Highever falls to Howe's treachery, James must deal with the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader beware:
> 
> This chapter features some graphic descriptions of violence, and the aftermath of which might trigger some uncomfortable feelings for some readers (consider this a sexual violence trigger warning). Having that said, read at your own risk.

In the absence of light, shadows thrive.

\- Threnodies 8:21

The night that Rory asked me to run away with him I understandably had a hard time sleeping.  My mind pulsed busily, overcrowded with possibilities and consequences: if I went with Rory and became a gray warden, I'd be untouchable and very likely happy, but who would be responsible for Highever if I left?  I suppose mother would have to postpone her visit with Lady Landra, but I'd no longer be a Cousland, not really. There'd be no turning back, no more "welcome homes." I knew they'd accept it eventually, but could they ever forgive me?

 _I cannot and will not.  Do not ask it of me_ , father's testament, with King Maric as his witness, echoed in my ears.  

Would I even be able to forgive myself?  Though being a teryn's daughter made me completely miserable, even though the thought of being with Rory and finally following my heart thrilled me in a way that was terrifying, imagining their reactions, the looks on their faces when they'd realized I'd given up everything haunted me.  Their loss would truly be greater than mine, and I knew they'd feel like my choice was all too easy, that throwing them away was effortless: the kind of pain that doesn't simply pass with time.

I felt ill as I realized that no matter what I chose, I wouldn't ever be truly happy.  I'd always be searching for that one thing that, no matter what, would always be just beyond me, just a finger's length out of my reach.  Everyone had competing hopes for me, something they expected of me, and I wept silently for wondering why I would never be allowed to have anything worth keeping without paying a heavy price. As tears of self-pity slipped down my cheeks, soaking my pillow, Beau climbed up into my bed, gently thrusting his head underneath my hand.  As I wept, I threw my arms around him and slowly, finally, fell asleep. 

Almost instantly I was shaken awake, a gentle tremor stemming from my arm.  As I came to, rather groggily, I realized that someone had been jostling me.  I willed my eyes to open, slowly and sensitively at first, and as my sight began to slightly focus, I made out that Rory had been sitting next to me.  I attempted wet my lips, but my mouth was completely dry: I felt warm, too warm, like I'd fallen asleep next to the fireplace.  

"Mmm, Rory," I yawned sluggishly. "What are you doing here?"  I was exhausted, barely able to move at all.  All I wanted to do was sleep.

"Wake up," he said, still shaking me.  "It's time."

"Time for what?" I asked, confused.  My mind was still clouded with sleep, and it was getting hard to breathe.  My body felt heavy as if I'd been made of granite, and no matter how much I thought about moving, my limbs weren't taking orders.  "It can't be morning already."

"It's _time_ ," he insisted, his voice just a few shades lower than normal.  I closed my eyes hard, then blinked to clear my vision, but my eyesight was just as foggy as my mind.  As I looked up into Rory's eyes, they glowed strangely, golden, and the light blotted out the rest of his face.

Something wasn't right.

"You're not…This isn't…" I managed to get the words out as they stuck to my tongue, parching me.  It came to me that everything suddenly felt airless, stifling.  As I willed myself to focus on his face, he broke out into delirious laughter: the sound alone was ghastly, terrifying.  I writhed, trying anything at all to move, to get away, but I was stuck solid to that spot.

Noises began to creep around the room, slithering and scratching, sneaking up the edges of my bedposts in the darkness.  My heart thrashed inside my chest as the laughter continued, Rory's figure melting away until only the eyes remained.  I knew those eyes that peered, pierced into me; though,  it had been almost a decade since I'd seen them.  As I stared into the eyes of the dragon, the sound of blood-curdling screams, pained and purposed wailing pressed me down into the bed, and it let out a blast of fire that saturated the room.

" _It begins now_ ," its voice reverberated off the walls as I shot straight up, jumping out of my bed.

After a second, gasping for air, hurriedly filling my lungs, I realized that I was standing in the dark of my room alone with Beau.  _It was only a dream_ , I thought, my chest still heaving tediously, and Beau began to growl lowly, scratching at the door, _and that would explain the sounds.  Oh, thank the Maker._   As my heartbeat faded from my ears, and my hearing cleared, the clanging of swords and the twang of loosed arrows clamored up the corridor outside.  My relief had been very short-lived.

Immediately my body filled with an insane, chaotic panic, but my mind remained crystal clear: I knew exactly what I had to do.  The instant, gripping frenzy seemed to give me wings as I rushed over to my chest, changing into my practice gear with the speed of a harpy on fire, and since all of the proper armor was in the treasury by the main hall, this would have to do. I laced up my boots with a great fury, though my fingers shook with fear, and as I grabbed my sword and dagger, I could hear a fight erupting right outside my room.  

 _No,_ my thoughts raced, _mother, father, Oriana, Oren…_

As I opened my bedroom door, an arrow darted into it, nearly passing right through.  A guard on the other side tried to beg me for help until the gurgle of blood overtook his mouth: a knife passing keenly through his neck cut him off, sending a spray of crimson through the air like a crest of sea water.  Though my stomach was halfway up my throat, the adrenaline began to take over, and I forced my breathing into a regular pattern, willing my nerves to be still.

Quickly, I emerged from my room with Beau in tow, swords drawn, and while he lunged at the men, ripping at their limbs with wild brute force, I began to dance around them, meeting each swing of their swords with mine. Three men had made their way into the family corridor, and I was not about to let them get to anyone else.  As I out-maneuvered them, I studied them: Fergus had always impressed upon me that if you could get a quick picture of a fighter, you could better predict their next move. 

These guys were slow and took what I considered to be stupid risks, obviously not the best fighters in the bunch, which made it easy to see what was coming.  While Beau distracted the archer, I crossed my blades above my head, catching another's sword between them.  As he pressed down, putting a massive force behind his longsword, I pulled mine apart from opposite ends, knocking him off balance; when he staggered, trying to regain his footing, I landed a front kick square to his stomach that sent him flying backward, smacking his head off of the wall.  

In less than a moment the next one was on me, ramming his shield into my face.  I reeled backward, as he strategically advanced, sneering. When he moved his shield to strike at me with his sword, I watched as he shifted his weight: _his feet are too close together_ , I thought with a smile of my own.  Immediately my right leg swept out, catching his, bringing him to the ground. Suddenly his friend charged me, lunging from my right: I slid backwards, watching him run right past me, tripping right over the first.

"You really should stop playing with them, dear," mother's voice chimed from behind her bedroom door as an arrow struck the second warrior precisely in the neck, and then his chest, while Beau finished off the archer.  "I think we've got better things to do."

That left only the shield knight, who was starting just starting to get up.  I moved to him, quickly, kicking him hard in the ribs once, twice, three times before he fell flat, rolling onto his back.  I brought my broadsword straight down into his stomach, twisting the blade just to watch him writhe for a moment before I slit his throat with my dagger.  Viscous blood was everywhere before I realized what had happened: I'd literally just killed a man for the first time, and I felt literally nothing.  _Later,_ I pushed the thought away, _I'll worry about this later._

"Oh, my darling girl," mother ran up, throwing her arms around, "I heard noises outside and feared for the worst."

"I can see why," I stated agitatedly as I caught the fallen warrior's shield out of the corner of my eye, pointing toward it. "Did you see that shield?  They're _Howe's_ men."

Instantaneously a bottomless rage filled the entirety of my body: I always knew that Arl Howe was a perverse monster, but _this?_ The thought of someone who called themselves a family friend for decades being able to do something this cold, this calculated shook me to the core.  

"Why would he attack us?!" the shock broke through her voice, and her eyes were wide, scared as she scanned the room frantically. "I, I just don't understand it."

"Aside from the fact that he's one thousand percent evil?" I glared at her in disbelief. "Fergus and most of our soldiers have gone, and that _bastard_ thought he'd waltz in and murder us all, asleep in our beds," I insisted, spitting on the corpse in front of me.  

"You think his men were delayed _on purpose?"_ she almost whispered, raising her hand to her mouth.  She looked as if she was lost somehow, that she'd woken up in some strange alternate universe: maybe we both had.

"Why else, mother?"  I countered, shaking my head.  As I took a second to breathe, raking my hand through my hair, I realized that father wasn't with us, and my heart sank to the floor.  "Where's father?" I asked, my voice pleading with her.

"I, I--" she stammered, her mouth unable to cooperate.

" _Mother, where is he?"_ I demanded.  There was no time: we had to keep it together, otherwise we were all going to end up dead.  

"He never came to bed,"  she said, bewildered.  "He mentioned staying up with Duncan, but I--"

"We have to find him," I insisted, grabbing her by the arm.  "There is absolutely _no time_ to spare."

As I took a step toward the corridor, I stopped short, remembering that we weren't the only people who slept in this wing of the castle: both Oriana and Oren would  need to be kept safe for Fergus's sake.  I directly turned and marched toward their door, throwing it open. 

"Oriana, are you--"  

My eyes zeroed in on the horrific scene in front of me with haunting detail, centering on Oriana's body and then slowly moving to Oren's. Her face, arms and legs were painted in dark, sprawling bruises, her dressing gown torn, all but cut off her body.  Oriana's face was twisted in agony, her face stained and swollen with tears.  Her blank, dull gaze still pleaded off into the distance, the blood from the wide slit in her neck coated her chest and the rag of her dressing gown. They had brutalized her in ways I didn't dare to imagine. My bottom lip began to tremble uncontrollably, and what I saw before me turned my rage into a dire, cold anguish. 

"Oh, _Oh Maker_ ," I sputtered, tears pouring violently down my cheeks, as I forced myself to look over Oren's limp frame, propped up against a chair.  They'd stabbed him only in the stomach, a wound that would cause him to suffer grievously but not immediately kill him, and he'd clenched his hands tightly over it, the blood seeping through his fingers.  I shook my head forcefully, raising my hands to my mouth and sobbing loudly into them, knowing that he likely died from painfully drowning in his body fluids than from the wound itself.  My eyes widened in horror, my body went into convulsions, as I connected the placement of the bodies.

 _No, no, no,_ my mind sped with sheer revulsion and heartbreak. _They made him watch, dear Maker.  They made him watch as they--_

"What?  _What?!_ " mother screamed, attempting to push past me.

" _No,_ mother, _don't!_ " I tried to grab her, hold her back, but she broke through my arms almost instantly.  I turned my head away, clenching my eyes shut, my jaw still fiercely trembling as mother's pained wails pierced the silence.  

She screamed achingly, rushing over to Oren, cradling his lifeless body in her arms as she rocked back and forth.  She laid her head against his, sobbing helplessly into his hair.  "My precious little Oren," she whimpered. "What matter of fiend slaughters innocents?"

"I promise you that I will butcher every single one of them," I growled through my tears, reaching out to her. "I will massacre them for what they've done." 

"How will we tell your father?" she looked up at me, pain ravaging her face.  "How will we tell Fergus?"  

I closed my eyes again, attempting to force that thought away.  There was no way I could even begin to think about that right now.  We still had father, and there was no way of knowing if even he was still alive since Howe made it incredibly evident that he had zero interest in taking hostages.  All I could do was put my sorrow aside for the moment and search the castle for survivors in the hopes of finding father, but we'd have to do it together.

"Mother," I exhaled sharply, trying to pull myself together.  "Let's find father.  We can worry about telling him once we know he's safe."

"You're right," she said quietly, gazing down at our slain family as I helped her up.  As she made her way to the door, I quickly moved Oren and Oriana next to each other, covering them with a blanket: it was the best I could think to do so suddenly in the hopes of maintaining some shred of their dignity.  No one else needed to suffer through the immediate pain of what we'd just witnessed.  Mother glanced back quickly, noticing my poor efforts. "Thank you," she murmured, wiping away her tears.  I nodded in response, frowning earnestly.

As we made our way down the corridor, the fighting grew louder, and it became instantly clear that Howe's men were everywhere in the castle, that they were controlling the battle.  I looked over at mother, her expression glazed over, and I worried that she'd be unable to fight after the losses she'd just suffered.  In the back of my mind I knew if we were careful, I'd likely be able to get us out of the castle, but the amount of fighting echoing up the hall was unnerving.

"Do you hear the fighting? Howe's men must be everywhere," she said shaking her head lightly.  It was hard to tell if she was assessing the situation or willing herself to forget.

"Then let's be careful," I advised, placing my hands on her shoulders, looking solemnly into her eyes.  "Father is likely at the front gates by the sound of things, and once we find him we'll make our way to the servant's entry."

Mother blinked a few times, nodding softly.  "That's a good plan," she said with a small, sad smile. "Your father was right to train you to fight.  You were born to it."

"We'll see about that," I muttered, moving my gaze toward the sound of the fighting.  I had no clue what we were about to get ourselves into, but I knew it was about to get messy.

With that, mother made her way toward the hall with alarming speed, Beau immediately behind her, and any thought I might have had that positioned her as unable to fight were quickly forgotten.  We cut through hoards of Howe's men, picking up some of our own guards along the way, with a ferocity that I'd never known: this had just become very personal, and my only desire was to see Howe obliterated slowly and very painfully.  My need for revenge grew with each passing second.

Beau instinctively guarded mother when we neared the treasury, as fire began to creep up the castle walls.   She frantically opened the door, her fingers shaking, as she tried to force the key into the key hole. The moment we stopped, more of Howe's men were upon us.

"Mother, we don't have time for this," I said, irritated, as I dodged one of the men.  She managed to slip inside the treasury as I sliced open the warrior's side.  Howe had brought his entire army to the castle, it seemed, as I slashed through them one by one with Beau keeping watch at the door.  As I smashed the last one into the wall, taking my sword to his heart, mother emerged with the family sword and shield.

"I will not let Howe take these from us,"  she revealed, thrusting them into my arms.  "Out of what's left, these are worth protecting."

I sighed heavily, knowing that I had no use for the shield, I strapped it to my back. But the sword? _That_ I could use.  I slid my dagger into my boot, and tossed the sword around a bit in my hand for a moment.  It was well balanced, a good weight for holding in one hand.  I might have loved this sword if it hadn't come to me in this way.  As I examined it, mother began to tear up slightly, but rapidly forced herself to stop.  I tried to push a smile onto my face as a condolence and acknowledgment, but when it wouldn't happen, I motioned toward the great hall.

"Let go," she agreed hastily, as worry lurked over her face.

We made our way across the corridor, throwing open the door of the great hall.  Rory was upon us in an instant, sword drawn, but even with the anger spread across his face, I'd never been happier to see his gray eyes.  Immediately his face softened, relief washing over him.  The rest of the men were fighting behind us, and we quickly joined them.  There was a mage with Howe's guards, that I centered in on quickly.  As the mage slew splintering hunks of ice at my chest, I never faltered, never wavered.  I stared him down, fury raging like the castle's fire in my eyes, and I stuck him unceremoniously in the chest, watching as he slowly dropped to the floor.  As I turned around and joined the others, the fight died down quickly, and the rest of our men rushed to the gate, desperately trying to bar it shut.

"Man the gates, and keep those bastards out as long as you can," Rory gestured fiercely.  In a split second he turned around to face us, his features well worn from the battle.  "Your ladyship, my lady, you're both alive! I was positive that Howe's men had gotten through for as much as we'd tried to stop them."

"They did, Rory," I replied, my face falling.  "They…they've killed Oriana and Oren."  

Tears started to fill my eyes, a few of them trickling down to my chin.  Rory stood next to me, reaching up to wipe them away.  I glanced up, placing my hand over his, as my eyes searched his face for something, anything.

"I'm truly sorry, my lady. I've failed you," he sighed heavily in defeat.  "When we realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates, but this won't keep them out long."

"Are you injured, Ser Gilmore?" mother asked quickly.

"Don't worry about me," he said, almost ignoring her, looking directly into my eyes with his hand still at my cheek. "I'm just happy that you're both alright, but you need to go, _now_ , while you still have the chance."

"Come with us, _please,_ " I said, gripping his hand with both of mine, begging him with my eyes.  "I can't leave you, not like this."

"James, listen to me, _you have to_ ," he insisted as the pounding at the gate grew louder. "If I come with you, you'll never make it out in time.  When I last saw your father, he was badly injured but determined to find you. He headed toward the servant's entrance, and if you leave now, you can still find him."

Terrified, my eyes flew from the side entrance to Rory: he was going to die to save us, to give us more time.  My mind blanked as my mouth twisted into a bitter frown.  I couldn't let him go, not like this, not when we'd had so much left between undone between us.  As mother grabbed me, dragging me toward the door, my heart shattered into a million pieces.

" _No!_ " I screamed fearfully, a bloodcurdling sound escaping my lips. I broke free of mother's grasp and ran to him, throwing myself into his arms, sobbing with my whole body.  He held me for a moment, his head resting against mine. "I would have gone with you," I whispered softly.

"I know," he smiled gently into my hair, "but now I get to do that one magnificent thing that makes me truly worthy of you."  Before I realized it, he'd swept me up in one last, deep kiss.  As his lips pressed against mine, tears poured silently down my face. 

When he broke away, he raised my chin to look me in the eyes. "Don't worry," he said, wiping away my tears. "I love you, and I _will_ see you again.  Now, _go_."

In a flash, mother grabbed my hand, pulling me hard out the side entrance.  As the door slammed shut behind us, the sound of the gates crashing rang off the walls.  The men's screams filled my head, and I wasn't sure how much I could take.  Rory and his men would be grossly outnumbered: he'd be dead within minutes.  While we carved our way through the rest of Howe's men, trying to get to the servant's entrance, I wasn't sure what there was left to live for.

Finally, we reached the kitchen, and Beau pawed at the larder door, barking anxiously, before we could get it open.  As I pulled Beau out of the way, mother opened the door, revealing father slumped over in the corner, gripping a wound at his side, barely able to hold himself up.  She immediately ran to him, kneeling at his side.

"There you both are," he managed between rasping breaths. "I was wondering when you would get here.  Howe's men found me first, almost did me in right there."

"Why is Howe doing this?" I demanded angrily.  As father groaned in pain, mother wiped his brow.  

"Bryce, we have to get you out of here," mother uttered frantically, trying to help father stand but to no avail.  He cried out severely in pain, sinking back down to the floor.

"The castle is surrounded: I cannot make it," he managed to get the words out as a small stream of blood ran from his lips to his chin, "but someone must get word to Fergus to tell him what has happened."

At that moment Duncan, the gray warden commander, breezed in behind us.  Though father had been gravely injured, Duncan looked as though he'd barely broken a sweat.  Why had he shown up now, of all times?

"I'm afraid the teryn is correct.  Howe's soldiers have not yet discovered this exit, but the castle is surrounded.  Getting us all past them would be difficult."

"The gate to the great hall has fallen," I added. "Howe's men will be here any moment."

The situation had gone from bad to worst case scenario in under thirty seconds, and my mind raced with fleeting plans to get us all out safely.  What Duncan said was true, if we all tried to get out it'd be difficult, but I wasn't leaving anyone else behind.  The fighting was inching up corridor with every passing second, and by the sound of it was getting very close. What could we do?

"Duncan, I beg you, take my wife and daughter to safety," father pleaded, doubled over in pain, his face wincing terribly.

"I will, your lordship, but I must ask for something in return," Duncan replied calmly.  The lack of emotion in his voice was slightly disturbing.  How could he ask my father for a favor now on his deathbed?

"Anything, _anything_ ," he coughed, blood covering the back of his hand.  While mother broke down into heavy tears, Beau cried softly in by the door.

"The threat you face here is heinous, indeed, but pales in comparison to the impending danger, the evil now loose in this world," Duncan proceeded.  "I came here in search of a recruit, and the darkspawn threat _demands_ that I leave with one."

With Rory likely dead, Duncan insinuated that I was the obvious choice.  While it would get mother and me to safety, I felt guilty that the dream Rory and I had briefly shared would be mine alone, and the feeling ate away at me.  The thought of it was truly unbearable.

"I…I understand," father choked out, his breathing quickly becoming heavy and ragged. "As long as justice is brought to Howe, I agree."

"I will take your daughter and the teryna to Ostagar to inform Fergus and the king," Duncan said plainly before turning to me. "James, I offer you a place in the gray wardens: fight with us."

"But what if Fergus is dead?" I looked from father to mother and back frantically, knowing that it was a high possibility, considering the fate of everyone else at the castle.

"Then we inform the king of what has occurred, and he will take care of Howe," Duncan began. "I'm sorry, my lady, but a gray warden's duties take precedence, even over vengeance."

Vengeance was a polite word for what I had planned for Howe.  I knew father meant to have mother get the king involved, but I'd take care of him long before that. And if Duncan thought fighting darkspawn would stop me, he'd find himself incredibly mistaken.  I would never, not in a million years, let Rendon Howe get away with the monstrosity he'd set upon us.  I'd sooner carve my own heart out and eat it than let him go unpunished. 

"But--" 

"Pup," father started weakly, "Our family always does our duty first.  The darkspawn must be defeated, for your sake and for Ferelden's.  Either way, I know you will see that justice is brought to Howe."

"Fine...I agree," I conceded.  It seemed ironic to me that in father's final moments, the words I should be confronted with were justice and duty: words I'd been force-fed my entire life.  I was losing everything I'd ever known, everyone I'd ever loved, and all anyone could do was talk to me about duty.  

"We must leave quickly, then, and make our way to Ostagar at once," Duncan said stepping past us, motioning toward the servant's entrance.  "The darkspawn threat will not wait."

 _Neither will Howe's men,_ I thought, casting an anxious glance toward the larder door.

"Bryce, are you, are you sure?" Mother stammered, knitting her brow together.  

"James will not be a victim of Howe's treachery: she will live the life she's meant to and see to it that the deaths here were not in vain," he insisted, the blood pooling around him rapidly.  The color had drained from his face, his eyes were barely open, and his wearied body slowly went listless in mother's arms.  

"Then, my darling girl, go without me," mother looked up at me, her eyes glistening with tears.

" _Eleanor_ ," father gasped in protest, but mother continued.

"I will use every last breath in my body and every arrow that I have to buy them time, but, my love, I will not leave you.  I will not abandon you when my last and final desire is to be with you, always," her voice cracked amid the tears as she laid father gently on the ground, and rose to say her goodbyes.  "Duncan, see that no harm comes to my baby."

"Then go, pup," father whispered before falling silent and still. "Reach Fergus and know that we love you both, that you do us proud."

"Goodbye," I mumbled through the pain, unable to move.  Duncan put a hand on my back and pushed me toward the door, almost causing me to stumble.

As Duncan immediately opened the servant's entrance door, ushering me out,  mother drew her bow in anticipation of the breech, tears falling gently down her face: the clamoring outside had finally reached the kitchen.  As Duncan grabbed me, pulling me down the stairs and out into the field, I felt nothing, emptiness.  I forced myself to cut through what remained of Howe's men, those that had not yet infiltrated the front gates, though I wasn't sure how.  Every bit of me was lifeless, dead, and barren, and I prayed silently to the Maker that this was all a dream, that I might wake up safe and warm in my bed in the morning.  There were no words that could possibly come close to describing the grief I felt, the sudden onslaught of terrifying guilt.  Why should they have died while I lived? 

When we were far enough away in the distance, having escaped from the bulk of Howe's men, I glanced back toward the castle as Duncan looked at me wearily.  Fire had all but claimed the castle walls, with phantom shadows nearly clear in bedroom windows, and the smoke fanned out like the wings of a dragon.  The full moon shone brightly in the sky, its light falling on the tall grass outside the servants entrance, now soaked in blood.  My eyes lingered there for a moment, remembering the dream Rory and me shared for tomorrow, his hopes and desires, that place where we so often dreamed of a new world, a new life.

For Rory and so many of the people that I loved, tomorrow would never come.

 


	10. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As James and Duncan make their escape to Ostagar, James tries to make sense of what remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay on this chapter! I have a few pressing academic projects that need my immediate attention, but things will be much better after next week! I hope this tides you over until we meet Alistair in the next chapter!
> 
> In other news, I've been storyboarding a lot of this story (mostly the James/Alistair/Zevran dynamic), and I think I have some awesome stuff outlined. I hope you're excited!

And down they fled into darkness and despair.

\- Threnodies 8:28

It took us nearly four days to get to Ostagar, and I spent nearly all of them in a silent daze.  Even though we were able to pick up, or rather, deftly steal, horses in the Bannorn on our long march south, the days seemed to drag on in the wake of everything that had happened in Highever.  In a way I was almost glad of it, knowing that once we reached Ostagar I'd have to bear the bad news to Fergus, and I wrestled with how much information to give him: I would never, ever be able to forget what I saw, but I knew it wouldn't do him any good to hear it.  It'd have to be my painful secret.

We spent all of our days in silence, riding south or walking when we thought to save the horses' energy.  Though Duncan had tried to start conversations with me, discussing warden history and lore, I just couldn't shake myself out of the somber silence.  What could I possibly have to say after all that?

When we set up camp on the first night, keeping to heavily wooded areas in case we were being tracked, I realized that the only belongings I had with me were the gear I had on, which wasn't meant to be worn straight for days on end, and my assortment of weapons.  Duncan wasn't much better off, but at least he had armor that he could take off if he'd wanted to.  I, unfortunately, was stuck in mine if only for decency's sake, and it made the following days' march miserable.

On the third night, with only a half a day's walk left to Ostagar, Duncan decided we should stop to get some rest, and as the first stars of twilight dotted the sky through a dark lattice of trees, I started to set up camp as Duncan settled the horses in by a small nearby brook. Once we got a fire going and started eating, I nestled up against a log with Beau at my side, snoring loudly, and Duncan chose a soft patch of grass on the opposite side to occupy.  As we finished the small meal of the remaining supplies we managed to scrape together, he looked at me from across the campfire, knowing that I hadn't slept since we left Highever, not really.  Maybe it was the three full days of total silence or that day's long haul in the rain, but Duncan tossed a canteen of wine across the fire at me.  I caught it, looking at him in confusion.

"That will help you sleep," he said, almost kindly.  "I know you haven't, and I won't have you falling off your horse in front of the other wardens."

"What is it?" I asked, unscrewing the lid to smell it.  While I expected it to be sour, it actually smelled almost floral.  I raised my eyebrow before taking a small swig from the canteen.

"Ah, she _does_ speak," he smiled, his face lighting up a little. "It's just wine, and not anything terribly special.  Sometimes, when I find an interesting wine, I just bring it along: that one is made from elderflowers." When he talked about the wine, he nodded toward the canteen in my hand, and after the first sip, I found myself unable to stop drinking.  

"If you think this is going to make me sleep, you've got--"  Duncan stopped me short, tossing another canteen across the fire, smacking me square in the chest with it.

"It's called planning ahead," his smile grew larger, and in the firelight from where I sat, I realized that he wasn't an unattractive man.  "I knew I'd have someone with me, and sometimes being nice makes conscripting easier."

As I finished the first canteen, I looked up from the fire, catching his glance. "Duncan," I said softly, "I'm not sure I want to sleep.  My dreams have never been kind to me, and now..."

"Likely nothing worse that what you're about to see on the battlefield, I promise you," he said, knitting his eyebrows together.  "I know you've just witnessed a most horrific crime, but trust me, darkspawn are going to make that seem like a tea party."

I shook the second canteen around in my hand lightly, and since it was also full, I took to drinking it quickly.  The wine was incredibly sweet, the way I liked my wine, and even though it was tepid, it went down almost too easily.  It brought a heat to my cheeks immediately, making it almost too warm to sit by the campfire.  

"Oh, good," I said nonchalantly gazing into the fire as the wood crackled and the embers glowed before me: that's exactly what I wanted to hear after what I'd been through. After a moment passed, I glanced up to find Duncan still studying me, looking me over.  It wasn't in the way that Arl Howe had always looked at me, but different, like he was trying to figure me out.  "How does it feel when you kill someone?" I asked, setting down the canteen.

"Well," he confessed, "I suppose it's different for everyone, but for me much depends on the matter of the man.  If I know him to be deserving of death, I don't think too much on it.  Honestly, this is not the kind of life where one can let that sort of thing keep him up at night."

"Hmm," I hummed between pressed lips, returning my gaze to the fire.

"Is that why you can't sleep?" he leaned in closer to the fire, his arms propped up on his knees.

"No, not really," I replied, knowing deep down that he'd likely laugh at me or think I was childish for being scared of that dark _thing_ inhabiting my dreams. "But we'll go with that for now.  It just disturbed me a little bit that when I killed Howe's men, especially the first one, I felt nothing.  I thought I should feel something, watching the life slip from a man like that."

Duncan considered me for a moment, tilting his head to the side slightly.  He seemed as though he wasn't sure what to make of me as his eyes tried to search mine.  

"You'd think you would," he said, yawning lightly.  "We all deal with it differently.  I'd also add that in your scenario, it's understandable. Obviously, you were in a situation where your feelings were preoccupied elsewhere, and you did what you had to do.  It's commendable."

"But I couldn't save them," I offered, still staring intently into the embers.

"Our small army of gray wardens couldn't have saved them, James," he got up and moved over to sit beside me.  As he got comfortable, his back resting against the same severed tree trunk next to me, he opened his hand, palm up, as if to ask for the canteen.  I handed it to him, empty, and he shook his head faintly, scanning me.  "And you didn't fail them," he added softly.  "It's amazing that you're still alive, and you can still do something about it."

"But I thought wardens were all duty and darkspawn," I instigated, finally meeting his gaze with a facetious grin.

"Oh, we are," he chuckled.  "But that's not to say that you wouldn't be free to pursue Howe after the blight ends or that we won't run into him in the line of fire."  He looked at the empty canteen again, shaking it lightly just to be sure. 

"And if we did?" I raised my eyebrows. His voice was so full of certainty that I'd survive.  It wasn't an "if" question to Duncan, but a "when," and that gave me some kind of real comfort.  Even if he didn't think so, he was making me feel like I was capable, that I'd make it.

" _If_ we did," he smiled again, setting down the canteen. "I might be persuaded to close my eyes and forget the short amount of time it would take you to make him very sorry that he ever laid eyes on you."  

After a moment, his smile faded away, and he turned to look into the fire with me, searching for something of his own. "I am truly sorry, for what it's worth," he continued after the pause.  "No one should ever have to watch their entire family cut down before them."

It was my turn to consider Duncan and realize that maybe I'd misjudged him.  Secretly and deep down, I harbored anger at him for what had happened at Highever: his appearance seemed too coincidental, too planned altogether, and I feared that maybe he'd been in league with Howe in order to conscript me.  It had always been said that gray wardens would do whatever it took to win a blight, but he didn't seem the kind of man to simply submit to the massacre of a castle's worth of people, not just for one soldier.  I knew I wasn't that great of a warrior, anyway.

"And Rory," I added quietly.  I had purposely tried to keep him from my thoughts, no matter how often his face appeared in them.  I wanted to persuade myself it was because I didn't want to cry in front of Duncan, but really I didn't want to, couldn't deal with it, not yet.  Once I'd talked to Fergus, maybe that would help give me the closure I needed.  Until then, I'd just endeavor to get to Ostagar, get settled in as a Warden, and take it all out on the darkspawn.

"Ah, yes," Duncan nodded solemnly.  "He spoke very highly of you. I figured there was something there."

My head shot up instantly, turning to Duncan.  "There really could have been," I muttered as tears began to line my eyes.  "But now…"

"James," he readjusted himself, turning back towards me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "The Maker has seen fit to give you a new life, a real second chance.  Do with it what you will, but _please_ , don't fritter it away on the past.  You will find happiness in your future with the wardens if you let yourself, I promise."

"It's so hard," I sighed. "Just days ago, I held them all, ate with them, loved them.  How do you say goodbye?"

"By doing just that.  It _is_ hard, but you have to want to live, truly live," Duncan suggested. "Nothing you do will bring them back, but you can live your life in a way that would make them proud of you.  When you're ready to start, know that we will help you."

A moment passed before I could think of anything to say: I knew, deep down, that Duncan was right, but everything was still too fresh, the pain too new.  Maybe someday I'd be able to live my life for myself, but even this transition into the gray wardens was a stark reminder that my life was not my own and never would be.  I had the sneaking suspicion that even if I'd refused to join willingly, Duncan would've conscripted me.  _Or killed me,_ I thought pensively, _They seem like the kind of people who'd do that.  Would've been kinder--_

"What's on your mind?" Duncan inquired cautiously, almost hesitantly. "You seem troubled."

"Me?" I jumped a little, the sound of his voice catching me slightly off guard, bringing me back to reality. "Oh, I was just trying to make my mind up about something."  

"About?" he asked, his following silence held implication, begging me for an answer.  

"What made you decide to ride the whole way to Highever for me.  You did come for _me_ , right?" This was something else I'd been curious about, honestly.  I didn't really understand how he'd figured out that I was a decent warrior, let alone a good fit for the wardens:  the first time I'd really, _really_ fought a man was the night we fled Highever.  There was something a little too "predestined" about this situation that made me feel just a touch off put, and depending on how Duncan answered this question, my feelings would be pretty much solidified. 

"You were listening," he stated with a small grin that faded quickly, nodding in response. "I'm unsure if sharing this story will dredge up painful memories, but if you're truly interested…"

"Go on so," I urged him.  "Don't stop on my account."

"Well," Duncan sighed slightly, "don't say I didn't warn you.  A few years ago, after you'd been presented at the Landsmeet, there was a situation following a ball involving yourself and Ser Gilmore--"

"Oh, _that_ ," I interrupted, sorely.  I was still somewhat bitter about that, especially knowing now that I'd never be able to have that moment back at all, not even as a reenactment.  He was right, though, it did sting to keep having Rory brought up so casually, and since I was determined not to show more emotion than I already had in front of Duncan, I buried everything under being interested in what he had to say. "How do _you_ know about that?"

"You expect to pull off a stunt like that while visiting dignitaries stay at the castle without a word being said," he laughed softly.  "You're daft if you think servants don't talk, and even dafter if you think nobles wouldn't either."

"Oh," I murmured again, feeling all of the blood rush to my cheeks.  "Well, that's embarrassing."

"Yes, well," he continued, "I thought you handled yourself in a way befitting a gray warden.  That, with the added fact that you're an adept fighter, made the choice pretty easy."

"You mean gray wardens cry in their bedrooms for weeks, weeping into their journals?" I asked flippantly.  Duncan sighed heavily in response, rolling his eyes slightly.  While I could tell that he was trying to say something kind about me, humor was my only defense mechanism, and honestly Duncan only _seemed_ to play at being annoyed.  Maybe I wouldn't feel so out-of-place with the wardens after all.

"Hardly," he said, clearing his throat a little. "As you know, being a gray warden commands that we give of ourselves to save the world from the blight.  From your dalliance with Ser Gilmore, you were forced to sacrifice what I imagine to have been one of your only sources of real joy.  Your father said you never complained, not even once, though the loss was most assuredly acute."

"It was," I sighed back at him.  "Though, I supposed I'd gotten used to winning very few battles in that regard, and I don't bet when I know there's no chance of winning, not anymore."

"Maric mentioned something similar to me, once, about you," Duncan startled, subtly glancing over at me. 

" _King Maric?_ " I scoffed. "King Maric talked to you about me? Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Indeed.  It was actually right after your brother's wedding," he continued rather markedly. "We were talking about what makes for a good warden, and he said it was such a shame that you were born to nobility because even at such a young age, you were a perfect candidate."

A small smile crept across my face, thinking about King Maric and his warm, amber eyes.  He was the reason I'd made any headway with father on training with a sword, and as a result I'd been bookmarked by the wardens as a future recruit.  I knew that Maric had reinstated the wardens, but I hadn't taken into account that he and Duncan would be friends, especially not close ones.  Everything that had happened to me up until this point suddenly appeared in my mind as a series of sad events with only limited input from myself: would the rest of my life be some sequence of sorry situations that I could only deal with as they passed by me?

The wine must have begun to catch up with me because my cheeks continued to burn hot, as if a fire was roaring inside them, and my eyes began to grow heavy. After releasing a long, unrelenting yawn, Duncan had taken to squinting, tilting his head slightly toward me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, raising his eyebrows gently.

"Tired, I think," I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the weight of exhaustion beginning to press gently on my shoulders.  For as much as I'd fought off the desire to sleep over the past few days, and so far had done so successfully, Duncan's plan had began to work.  

"Then, rest," he gestured toward a small patch of long grass underneath a nearby tree that looked particularly enticing.  "I'll keep watch. Once we get to Ostagar in the morning, we'll get breakfast and everything will seem much better."

"Mmm," I hummed again in agreement.  Standing up took more than enough effort, and as I trudged tiredly over to the grassy patch, Beau followed me closely.  When I laid myself down, Beau slid underneath my shoulders before I could meet the ground, offering himself up as a makeshift pillow: I reached up to scratch his ears softly in response, while he sighed happily.

It didn't take more than a few moments to get comfortable, and I thought I'd likely have fallen asleep in any conditions at that point.  Even my limbs began to grow heavy as I turned my back to the fire, pressing my cheek down into Beau's fur.  

"So much of life is beyond our control, isn't it?" My voice broke over the cracking embers of the fire.  My eyelashes began to glitter in the glow of the moonlight with small tears, my eyes pressed shut: only one of them managed to escape down the contours of my cheek before I reached up and hastily wiped it away.

"Regretfully," Duncan agreed from behind me, still sitting at the fire.  "But doesn't it make you want to do something?"

"Like saving the world?" I responded, tears still lingering in my eyes.  

"Exactly so," he agreed, his voice was burdened with a quiet heaviness.

As the rising and falling of Beau's chest lulled me gently towards sleep, Duncan's words rang in my ears like an echo that wouldn't stop.  After a few moments, it was still there, barely a whisper.  _It does, Duncan,_ my mind managed in the last fleeting moments I'd left between sleep and awake. _It really does._

Thoughts of my parents, my home, and my life before Howe's cursed betrayal slipped away slowly like grains of sand in a regressing tide.  With each breath, they drew away just a little farther, and the air grew a little stiller.  Once the crackle of the fire faded, becoming inaudible, sleep finally took over: for now, fear evaded me, and my rest was warm and quiet, as silent as the grave.  As imagined images of the large, crumbling Tevinter outpost glided slowly behind my eyes, the sun rose faintly behind it, painting the sky in crimson and gold: though things had grown quiet, they were far from over.


	11. Anyone's Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James finally arrives at Ostagar and takes in the sights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, ladies and gentleman, I give you Alistair. : ]

But it was not worship the false gods craved.

\- Threnodies 8:23

The next morning, we made it to Ostagar in practically no time: the horses seemed to fly as if they'd been blessed by Andraste herself, and the closer we got to Ostagar's crumbling stone walls, a red sun rose from the horizon, painting that pretty picture from my dreams. Shades of scarlet streaked with gold, faded out into blue, combined with the deep emerald of the wilds: it was truly a vision.

 _A vision._ My stomach instantly turned as a sinking feeling took hold. The last thing I wanted was for more bad luck to follow me around.  _You know what they say about red skies and sailors,_ I thought, my mind racing. _A warning? But for what?_

I swallowed heavily, held my mare's mane even tighter in fistfuls with my face pressed to her neck, and forced my eyes shut, clearing my mind.  There was no way I was giving in to thinking that way already: if only because it was simply _too early._ As the horse dashed across the field, darting toward those Tevinter gates, I let the wind wash the feeling of dread off of me.  

When I opened my eyes, everything seemed beautiful, still, but normal.  I offered a quiet "thank you" to the Maker as we slowed down to greet the small caravan gathered by the gates for our arrival.  As the horses' gait slowed to an amble, I began to make out the faces before us.  

"Cailan," I gasped. I had expected to see him here but not immediately, and the fear of telling him of Highever's fate, making their deaths a true reality, grasped at me from the inside.

"Yes," Duncan responded with the vaguest tone of sarcasm, "that would be the king."  My faced snapped left quickly, the fear falling away while my face looking quite clearly unimpressed.  I'd almost forgotten that Duncan was with me.

He returned my glance with a similar one, causing me to smile a little.  Duncan seemed to me the kind of person who could almost read minds, and when it suited him, he'd coax you out of those particularly tough thoughts.  Maybe I was coming around to the idea of being a gray warden after all. As we dismounted and handed off our horses to the nearest guard, Beau rounded in behind us.  

"Duncan!" Cailan exclaimed vibrantly as he moved forward to hug Duncan. "It's good to see you back, old friend! I, of course, knew you'd make it, but you truly did take your time."  After a pause, Calian looked past him, finally noticing me, _recognizing_ me. I could think of a time, briefly, where I wouldn't have cared what I looked like in front of the King of Ferelden, but at that particular moment I felt like rubbish and looked half as good.  "Is that--"

"Your majesty, may I present--" Duncan interrupted him, trying to give me a moment without putting me immediately on the spot.

"You're Bryce's youngest," Cailan turned his attention to me without letting Duncan finish.  The look on his face affirmed that he wasn't asking, that he knew.  Beau growled lightly at my feet, but stopped as I placed a hand on his head.

"Your majesty," I bowed slightly in agreeance. 

"Why, Fergus didn't say you were coming along," he stated with a kind of happy surprise that occupied him for a moment until his face shifted into a look of confusion. "You're not here to join the wardens are you?" he asked, his eyes moving slowly from me to Duncan and back again.  "There's no way your father would have allowed that."

"He did allow it, your highness," I looked him in the eyes, pleading for him to listen to me. "He allowed it because it was the only way I could escape from Highever with my life."

"What are you saying?" he countered looking perhaps as serious as I'd ever seen him.

"Duncan and I were barely able to get out of Highever.  Arl Howe betrayed my family in the night, murdering my parents, Oriana and Oren, burning our castle to the ground," I set my jaw firmly after the words had spilled out.  

"Duncan, you will corroborate this?" Cailan turned to Duncan with more of a command than a question.  

"I will, your majesty," Duncan agreed quickly. "What I witnessed in Highever was a most heinous crime, and I trust that your highness will also see justice brought to it."

"Of course, absolutely," Cailan tried to force that famous smile across that face of his but seemed somehow unable to talk himself into it. "Please, you have my condolences, and know that as soon as we return to Denerim, I'll see to Howe swiftly, believe me."

"Thank you, your majesty, Cailan--" I added, attempting to let him know that I wished to thank him, on a personal level, but thought better of it too late.

"James," he smiled sympathetically. "Say no more of it.  It's unfortunate that Fergus is out, scouting the surrounding wilds: I'm sure you wish to see him forthwith."

"I do, but…" I trailed off.

"But some things are better off waiting until after breakfast," Duncan interjected.

"Well said, Duncan," Cailan laughed softly. "You two had best be on your way if you expect anything to be left, knowing you gray wardens."

As Duncan and I exchanged pleasantries and goodbyes with the king, my heart skipped a beat.  Knowing that Fergus had made it here safely was all I needed to perk up my mood, and knowing that I'd get to see him soon filled me with a solid happiness. For now, the utter distress that followed the thought of what I'd actually say to him when I saw him was temporarily absent.  I'd take any kind of small victory at this point.

"Well, aren't you just a jester," I smiled freely. Duncan couldn't help but smile in response before shaking his head.  

"Speaking of jesters, before you settle in for breakfast," Duncan started, reminded of something, "I want you to seek out our junior warden, Alistair.

"Oh, this ought to be special," I said with false anticipation.

"He will show you around and brief you on preparation for the Joining, so be nice to him please," Duncan returned my tone with a glance. "While you get settled in, I'll keep your hound with me." Beau whined, looking up at me with puppy eyes.  

"Okay, but only this one time," I said over my shoulder, already off to explore the ancient outpost.  My first thoughts of Ostagar from the outside were marveling in what a testament to integrity it was, what a monument to last the test of time.  As we enclosed on it, it was a marvel to behold.  From the inside, I was taken aback by its vastness: I almost needed a map to make my way around.  As I wandered past the mages, casting intricate spells, I stopped for a moment to take in the sight, almost instantly being shooed away by over-anxious templars.  I moved past the tranquil enchanter and the merchants, wondering fleetingly at new armor, as I explored further.

Walking up a small ramp and through some stone columns, I found a young man clad in armor engaged in heated conversation with an older mage.  As I slowly approached them, neither of them seemed to notice me.  As the fight progressed, I watched more and more intently.

"What is it _now_? Haven't gray wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?" the mage asked, exasperated.  He looked tired, weatherworn, and he was clearly not in the mood for any antics.

"I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, Ser Mage. She desires your presence," the young man answered.  While the response was polite enough, in and of itself, the man behind it was not: something about his tone was subtly cutting.

"What Her Reverence desires is of no concern to me," the mage insisted. "I am busy helping the gray wardens by the king's orders, I might add."

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" The young man's sarcasm was obvious now, and it was clear he was giving the mage a hard time.  I tried my hardest to stifle a surprised giggle behind my hands unsuccessfully as both men glanced at me for a split second before turning back to their argument.

"Tell her I will _not_ be harassed in this manner," the mage was seething, his whole head turned scarlet in an instant.  If it was from anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure.

"Yes, I was harassing you by delivering you a message," the man half-heartedly agreed.  

"Your glibness does you no credit," the mage's eyes narrowed intensely.  If I hadn't been so amused by the display unfolding before me, I might have been concerned that this fight, if you could call it that, seemed as thought it could come to physical blows.  As the mage's stance grew more and more rigid, the glimmer in his opponent's eyes grew brighter.

"Here I thought we were getting along so well.  I was even going to name one of my children after you…the _grumpy one_."

" _Enough_ , I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool," the mage spat as he blew past the young man, almost running into me.  In the moment before the nearly missed collision, he quickly scoffed when I didn't move out of his way.  Whatever the purpose of that unfettered sarcasm was had clearly been over my head, but that didn't mean I felt sorry for the mage, though I likely should have.  I glanced back over my shoulder, watching the mage storm off for a second as I chuckled softly.

As I turned back around, the young man was walking toward me, catching me almost off guard.  He was very tall, standing almost tall as Ser Gilmore, but much broader through the chest and shoulders: he was clearly no stranger to hard labor, and I supposed he carried the kind of muscle one earns from long hours of real, true fighting.  His hair was sandy, cut short and pushed up to a point in the front, and a light wash of stubble covered his face.  As he approached, a small smile crept across his face, one that I absent-mindedly mirrored, but when I noticed his eyes, bright and golden, that I gulped heavily, instantly calling up a ghost from the past.

"You know," he began, smoothly crossing his arms at his chest, "one good thing about the Blight is that it brings people together."

"And you must be Alistair," I offered, the small smile returning quickly to my face accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "I was looking for you."

"Am I dreaming? Because I think I could be dreaming," he eyed me suspiciously for a second before returning back to what seemed to be his normal, somewhat awkward yet semi-confident stance.  "But yes, I'm Alistair.  Ringing affirmative.  And you are?"

As he bantered on, I silently offered my thanks to the Maker for the second time that day. If my life had to be upturned, at least the sights were worth taking in.  While I decided there was something innately _interesting_ about him, aside from the high likelihood that he was muscles abound beneath that armor, he raised a lightly tanned hand to the back of his neck.

"I'm James, the new gray warden recruit," I declared with a little too much excitement. His eyes widened for a moment as he shook his head softly.  Clearly, he'd thought I'd be a man.  

"Ah," his eyes darted from left to right in an awkward panic. "I wasn't expecting--"

"A woman?" I asked, my smile growing in spite of myself.

"Well, yes," he said, clearing his throat and lowering his eyes, a soft red flush rising in his cheeks.  After a moment passed, he glanced back up hurriedly as if he'd forgotten something.  "I'm guessing that since you're looking for _me_ , that either means that I'm in trouble or that Duncan sent you. Or both.  Why does it feel like both?"

"Duncan did send me," I affirmed, "but he said you'd show me around camp.  He also mentioned something about breakfast, if I recall correctly." 

"Oh yes, please," Alistair responded almost too quickly, gesturing beyond us toward a small circle of tents and campfires. "Right this way."

As we made our way through the immediate parts of Ostagar, backtracking through most of what I'd already passed, he stopped to introduce me to Daveth and Ser Jory, two other warden recruits.  While we chatted briefly, I'd learned that Daveth was a thief caught in Denerim, apparently quick and deadly with a knife, and Ser Jory was a knight from Redcliffe who'd been recruited in Highever.  My heart sank for a second, but there'd be time to deal with that later.  As conversation continued, it was clear that Alistair was growing impatient, his foot tapping the dusty ground in a light rhythm.

"Well, gentlemen," I said with a forced smile, "it'll be my pleasure to watch your backs on the battlefield.  I look forward to it."

"Not as much as I look forward to watching yours," Daveth declared with a deviant smile.

"Because that's the exact opposite of something a slimey pervert would say," Alistair chimed in with that same silver-tongue I'd witnessed earlier.  

"If the shoe fits," Ser Jory alleged as Daveth's attention was immediately diverted when a blonde mage walked by, his eyes dropping from her chest to her backside as she passed.

"Okay, going now," Alistair said in an annoyed sigh.  He rolled his eyes heavily as he lightly grabbed my arm to pull me along with him.  Once we were out of earshot, he looked down at me, stopping for a moment. "I'll see to it personally that something hilariously humiliating happens to him in a very public and crowded place."

"What?" I asked, scrunching up my nose in confusion.

"There aren't many women in the wardens," he answered flatly, "but we won't let you be treated like _that_. After your joining, we are brothers and sisters.  No one is going to tolerate that kind of pernicious behavior."

"Oh," I laughed lightly. "thank you, but I could've handled that, myself.  He's not the first man who's made a joke like that about me.  He likely won't be the last.  As a teryn's daughter, you learn to ignore that sort of thing."

"A _teryn's_ daughter?" he asked, surprised, tilting his head slightly to one side.  

"Yes," I answered him softly, "I'm a Cousland…or was before…"

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry," he offered hurriedly, his tone apologetic  "The note Duncan sent ahead of you wasn't exactly the picture of clarity, as you've already noticed."

"No harm done," I sighed, that feeling of excitement draining quickly toward the ground.  "How could you have known that Arl Howe betrayed my family, that Fergus and I are all that's left?"  As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that he couldn't have: even the king hadn't been aware of my family's fate.  Immediately I regretted opening my mouth, dredging up those feelings I'd been trying desperately to suppress until I was by myself.

He studied me carefully for a moment, clearly unsure of how to proceed.  Finally, he glanced down at me again with as much of a forced smile as he could seemingly muster, a look of acknowledging sympathy filling his eyes. "Come on," he said with a small nod. "Let's get you some breakfast."

"Oh, yes please," I mirrored him from earlier, which caused him to grin wildly.  Even though my tone was a few shades heavier, the weight of my sadness pressing down on me, he humored me with a gesturing nod toward a bubbling kettle just a handful of yards away.  

As we both walked over and sat down around the fire, he handed me a bowl of what might politely be described as porridge.  Even though it didn't look or smell particularly appetizing, I eagerly ate the entire bowl in minutes by the mouthful, realizing that I hadn't had a real, solid meal in over a day's time.  The more I ate, scraping my spoon against the bottom of the bowl, the more the men around us eyed me, unsure of what to make of me.  Alistair ate in a similar fashion, though likely for a different reason, and when he realized why everyone was gazing at me with a sense of aversion or confusion, he appeared seemingly prideful.

Suddenly my mind turned to this "joining" that Alistair had mentioned.  Duncan had mentioned something similar while we were traveling to Ostagar, but I didn't think to question it at the time.  As I emptied my bowl of porridge, Alistair quickly offered me another with a laugh, and I gladly accepted.  I continued to eat with fervor, and thoughts of the joining left my mind quickly, replaced hurriedly with the gladness that only a full belly could bring.  For now, I'd do my best to be content.


	12. The Demon Called Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James undergoes the joining.

There was no word

For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky.

All that existed was silence.

\- Threnodies 5:1

 

Everything at Ostagar seemed to be some part of an elaborate dream full of all kinds of unexpected things.  After I'd finished breakfast, Alistair led me to where most wardens made camp for the night, and left me to get myself situated in preparation for the joining: though I'd tried my best to get him to give up its secrets, he seemed to deftly sidestep me in assurance that I'd find out soon enough.  As I peaked through the flaps of my tent, finally something new to call my own, I found a basic set of supplies that I was determined to take advantage of in a right and quick kind of way.  A bar of handmade soap, good for washing both myself and my small clothes, a decently sized canteen, a flint, a knife sharpener, and a tiny first aid kit were crammed inside a small pack nestled on top of a fresh bedroll.

_Oh, Maker be praised,_ I thought happily.  _It'll be fabulous to wash and not have to sleep directly on the ground._

I immediately took advantage of some of the pack's contents, directly finding a small pond just far enough away from the camp to be considered private, behind the cover of some tall pines.  Quickly peeling my practice leathers off revealed several red, raw patches from where leather, sweat, and rain had rubbed my skin into sores, and even though they were extremely tender to the touch, the pain eased as I stepped farther and farther into the pond's frigid water.  As I effectively washed off at least four days worth of dust and grime from traveling, I began to feel more and more like myself despite the freezing water.

After I'd gotten as clean as possible, I quickly stepped out again, throwing my practice gear back on rapidly in the hopes of no one seeing me through the pines.  I knew this was something I'd have to get over or at least get accustomed to, realizing that traveling with such a large group didn't exactly lend itself to an excess of privacy, but part of the old me still remained, the shy and naive me that preferred to only be seen by loving eyes like that night in the castle chantry.

I shook my head, blinking hard.  Where thinking of these things earlier that day caused painful tears to gather at the corners of my eyes, now they seemed far away somehow, and for the moment I was fine with that.

My thoughts began to turn toward the joining once again and all the things I'd need to take care of before then.  Finding new, and more practical splint mail, armor was easier said than done; however, the standard outfitter for the wardens managed to find something that worked and had adequate padding after a decent search.  Once I got everything in order, I made my way back to my tent to change, dabbing some healing ointment from the first aid kit on my travel-inflicted wounds, braiding my hair up as tight around my head as possible into an auburn crown, and changing quickly into the armor, amazing myself at how little it actually took to feel like a new person.

As the sun began to hang low in the sky, sinking down into the treetops, I realized that it time had passed more quickly than I'd thought.  Still full from breakfast, I knew I'd be fine with waiting to eat, even if that meant foraging for myself after the joining or waiting until the next morning.  I walked over to the bonfire in the center of camp where Duncan and the others were patiently waiting, silently preparing myself for whatever was about to come next.

As I approached Duncan and my future fellow wardens, Duncan was chastising Alistair for antagonizing the mage I'd seen earlier.  Once Duncan noticed me standing behind Daveth and Ser Jory, however, he began to let on about our mission, "Now then, since you're all here we can begin. You four will be heading into the Kocari Wilds to complete two tasks.  The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

"And why would we be needing darkspawn blood?" Ser Jory asked, a sense of nervous anxiety pervading his voice.

"For the joining itself: I'll explain more once you've returned," Duncan answered without much reassurance.

"Surely you've had ample opportunity to gather some before now," Ser Jory pressed further.  

"Of course," Duncan's tone now bordered on annoyance. "You must work together to collect the components, however.  It's as much a part of the joining as what comes after." Perhaps I'd only noticed the slight difference in tone with Duncan for as much solitary time as I'd spent with him over the past few days, but it was clear, to me anyway, that Duncan wasn't the type of person who liked to be endlessly questioned.  At least not seriously.

"Think of it as a _bonding_ experience," Alistair added cheerfully.

"And the second?" I asked, my voice ringing past Daveth and Jory.

Duncan informed us of some old scrolls, ancient treaties made by the gray wardens to unify nations.  He tasked Alistair with finding them, though he seemed vaguely uncertain if they'd still be there.  Though it wasn't part of the joining, Duncan explicitly noted their importance: coming back without them was not an option.

"Blood for three and ancient paperwork: got it," Daveth smirked.

"Watch over your charges, Alistair.  Return quickly and safely," Duncan's eyes lingered on Daveth, Ser Jory, and me for a few long moments.

"We will," Alistair nodded firmly.

"Then may the maker watch your path.  I will see you when you return."

Finally our little party was on its way, and once we got through the gates, my mind immediately turned to Fergus:  I'd known he'd been sent into the wilds, scouting, but I hadn't heard if he'd returned.  

Our trip into the wilds had been successful, although not without its own issues.  Within minutes we'd encountered an injured soldier who Alistair patched up with some bandages.  As soon as the soldier was out of earshot, Ser Jory began to show more signs of panic.  From first impressions earlier, I'd figured that Daveth would be the one to attempt flaking out on our cause, but Ser Jory took me by surprise.  The more involved we became in gray warden affairs, the more resistant he seemed.  Though Alistair tried to reassure us that he'd know if darkspawn were near, Ser Jory grew more and more hesitant.

Once Ser Jory's show of dismay subsided, we ventured further into the wilds until we'd happened upon a pack of wolves that were quickly dealt with and, finally, stumbled upon some darkspawn.  It was clear a few moments earlier that Alistair did, in fact, sense them: his face contorted only slightly enough that only the most observant onlooker might notice.  As his eyes searched the tree line for them, I twirled my dagger anxiously in my hand.

Suddenly, straight ahead, one emerged from behind a weathered, crumbling column. I'd never seen anything like it before, all covered in black blood, dank and dirty as if it'd just emerged from the ground.  It was the sort of things nightmares were made of.

Before Alistair could begin charging, his shield already raised in a defensive position, I ran forward, slicing through it with unfettered ease as several more manifested around me.  As Alistair, Ser Jory, and Daveth joined in, I realized that not all darkspawn were created equal:  the next was far stronger than others, and I'd felt silly for a moment, charging in on my own.  While it was strong, they were all slow, a trait that I took advantage of, evading each swing of the darkspawn's axe.  In time, I'd managed to take out three of my own, and as Ser Jory cut the last one down, I knelt down to fill my vial with blood.

"Well, aren't you a brave one?" Daveth said, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Or stupid," Alistair pitched in from behind us. "That one you rushed was a genlock, pretty easy to take down all things considered.  But the second? _That_ was a hurlock alpha, and I'm amazed your entrails aren't smashed all over the ground."

"I'm just full of surprises," I grinned over my shoulder, eliciting a groan from him in response.

As we traveled on, we cut through many similar, yet small, bands of darkspawn until we each had our vials filled.  I was surprised to learn that even darkspawn had mages, what Alistair called emissaries, though it made sense that he explained they were not unlike humans or elves with the same abilities.  

As we cut into the heart of the forest, finally reaching the decaying outpost, we arrived to find the chest, assumedly holding the gray warden treaties, in a state of disarray.  The chest itself was broken, smashed into a pile of splinters, and the documents, themselves, were missing.  As I wondered at the chest, recalling that Duncan said only a gray warden could break the seal, a presence gathered behind us.

"Well, well, what have we here?" a woman's voice sounded from over our shoulders. " Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?  Or merely an intruder, coming into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

A moment of silence passed, as I glanced from Daveth, to Ser Jory, and finally to Alistair.  No one seemed willing to step forward to speak to the young woman before us, her dark hair gathered at her head, dressed in leather and what seemed to be rags. Though none of my companions would approach her, she persisted. "What say you, scavenger or intruder?"

"Scavenger, I suppose, though we are here specifically for a reason," I offered kindly.  I saw no reason to dismiss or berate her: if she had wanted to attack us, she'd clearly had the vantage point and the opportunity to do so.  She seemed more curious than anything. 

"I have watched your progress for some time. Where do they go, I wondered.  Why are they here?  And now you disturb ashes that none have touched for so long.  _Why_ is that?" her voice held a sense of amusement: her curiosity turned to mischief.  While Daveth and Alistair both stood at the offensive, Ser Jory was shaking slightly.  I was the only one whose stance read neither menace nor coward.

"Don't answer her," Alistair said sternly under his breath. "She looks Chasind, and others may be nearby."

" _Oh_ ," she taunted Alistair in response, "you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!"

"Yes," he straightened his posture in response, his voice dropping a few bars. " _Swooping is bad_."

When Daveth called her a "witch of the wilds" I tried my best not to reach out and slap him.  Everyone around me was either instigating or calling attention to our weaknesses, and I was amazed that even Alistair was reacting in this way.  Clearly this group was a stab first, ask questions after they're dead sort, and that didn't work for me.  Now was not the time for reckless action.

"You there," she turned her eyes to me after exchanging words with Daveth. "Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.  Let us be civilized."

"My name is James," I offered with a small smile.  "Let me apologize for the rudeness of my companions-"

"But-" Alistair quickly interrupted as I shot him a silencing glance.

"And you are?" I continued with the same pleasantness as before.

"You may call me Morrigan, if you wish," she answered just as sweetly.  When she asked us what we'd been searching for, immediately Alistair bursted in with aggressive, curt comments, obviously trying to push Morrigan.  When she responded with a similar curtness, I found myself simply glad that she didn't reach for her staff to burn us alive.  So much for my diplomatic efforts.

After Alistair and Morrigan finished squabbling with each other, Morrigan, though clearly exasperated, offered to lead us to her mother.  It took some convincing, but finally we began to trudge through the marshes toward a small hovel in the woods.  While our interaction with Morrigan's mother was short, we did manage to obtain the treaties we'd been after.  Though Morrigan's mother had kept the document's safe, she was older than she looked, ragged, and yet inherently powerful.  As I stood the closest to her, I could feel some wave of energy lightly ripple through the air around me, and though I'd never been around mages before, I'd guessed that the sensation wasn't terribly normal.

For as soon as we arrived at Morrigan's quaint hut in the deep of the wilds, she had led us out again, guiding us almost to the gate before disappearing completely into the shadows.  As the others walked slightly ahead of me, I looked around for any trace of her; though, I assumed that due to Alistair's pointed threat of the Chantry and Mage Towers during their squabble, even this was too close to capture for her comfort.  Before they could get too far ahead, I managed to join them just as they approached Duncan, who had been finishing up preparations for the joining.

After informing Duncan of Morrigan and her mother, Alistair's annoyance turned hatred of her bubbling to the surface, Duncan chastised him for allowing his templar conditioned notions of apostates show instead of focusing on the joining.

_Alistair was a templar,_ I thought with some surprise as Duncan and Alistair led us to the temple where the joining would be held. _Not very reserved, is he? I can see why that didn't last._

Once we arrived there, Duncan and Alistair began to prepare the last parts of the ritual, mixing the darkspawn blood into a goblet.  As they did so, Ser Jory began to pace almost frantically and spout off more hesitations, catching Daveth's attention, who began to bicker with him.  I stood quietly, watching them both, trying to slow my heartbeat from the pounding roar that existed in my chest.  I didn't like the all of the secrecy or the mystery behind the joining, either, but if the joining meant my death, at least my time away from my family would have been short.

As Daveth and Jory fought over the merits of fighting the blight, Duncan approached us with the goblet. "At last, we come to the joining.  The gray wardens were founded during the first blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first wardens drank of the darkspawn blood and mastered their taint," he stated, beginning the ritual.

"We're going to drink the blood of those, _those creatures_?" Ser Jory questioned, a kind of terror solidifying in his voice.

"As the first gray wardens did before us, and as we did before you. _This_ is the source of our power and our victory," Duncan answered with an affirmative.  Alistair added that those who survive the joining become immune to the taint, that they could then sense the darkspawn as a result and hear the archdemon.  Though I tried, I couldn't force myself to concentrate: my heart was beating too loudly in my ears as Duncan revealed why the joining was kept a secret.  Not all survive the joining, and those who do are changed forever.

"We speak only a few words prior to the joining, but these words have been said since the first," Duncan's gaze moved to Alistair, who stood now in quiet anticipation. "Alistair, if you would."

"Join us, brothers and sisters," Alistair recited reverently, lowering his eyes to the ground. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we will join you."  As Alistair repeated the words from his own joining, Jory's eyes began to dart wildly between us all, finally settling on the goblet before us.

When Alistair finished, Duncan picked up the chalice and approached Daveth who'd been chosen to go first. "Daveth, step forward."

Daveth considered the cup in his hand before he lifted it to his mouth.  He took a small sip and swallowed heavily, and in mere moments his eyes turned pure white as he began to choke, sinking to the ground.  As his coughs sputtered out into nothing, his body lay lifeless on the ground.

"Jory, step forward," Duncan said, offering him the cup next.  Jory's movements became suddenly erratic as he stepped backward, drawing his sword and citing his excuses.  His eyes were wild with fear, and it was clear that there'd be no forcing him to drink.  

"There is no turning back," As Jory looked about like a caged animal searching for an escape, Duncan suddenly cut him down as if he were nothing, a spray of blood splashing across the stones at our feet. "I am sorry."

"But the joining is not yet complete," Duncan said, turning his head from both fresh corpses on the ground to me, looking into my eyes.  This was it, my moment had come.  I knew I hadn't come this far, hadn't escaped from Howe's clutches to simply die on the end of Duncan's sword, so I accepted the chalice held out before me, raising it to my lips. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.  From this moment forward, you are a gray warden."

As the vile blood filled my mouth, I gulped it down as fast as I could.  My heart began to speed up and slow down at the same time, if such a thing is possible, and my eyes readily rolled to the back of my head.  As darkness took me over, I lost control of myself, dropping the cup to the ground: my head filled with visions of a green sky, putrescent and foul, as a familiar face, all purple and sharp teeth, unleashed a wrathful scream only feet away from me. As I caught its eye, that burning, fire-filled orb burned through me.  

After a split second, everything began to fade into darkness, its scream turning into violent laughter, and I wondered if it was the demon who'd brought me here or if I was doomed to be haunted by my past forever.  Perhaps only time would tell.


	13. On the Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James survives her joining and receives special orders with Alistair regarding the battle unfolding at Ostagar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you liking Alistair so far? I'm trying to be as true to who I think his character is, but he can be hard to write!

Those who had been cast down,  
The demons who would be gods,  
Began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth.  
\- Threnodies 5:11

It took what felt like ages to come out of the darkness, my body suspended in a thick mist like a ship at sea: I was vaguely aware of my surroundings, hearing distant tones soft and low like voices sounding from above water.  A long tract remotely burned down my throat and into my stomach, removed from me,  far off.   Minutes ticked away as seconds in the real world: everything was slow, dark, impenetrable.

As my body hung there, indefinite and weightless, everything began to return slowly to reality: first the earth reached out to cradle me, holding me up, then the sounds of the wilds calling out through crows across the fens, and finally coaxing me forward with familiar voices.

"…let one of them live," first Alistair bled into perception, extant amid my gradually recovering senses like a prayer floating up into the heavens. 

"I'm certain she will," Duncan trailed in, slowly getting closer, clearer.  "She's survived more than this already."  My chest rose and fell softly, my back rigid against the cold ground: I felt as though I was thawing out after a long winter. After a pause, Duncan's voice moved in another direction, turning away from me as though in afterthought. "Alistair, while we're waiting, what's your opinion?"

"Of _her_?" Alistair's voice inched closer, downward.  "Well, to be totally honest, Duncan, she's entirely too reckless.  Do you know she charged the first darkspawn she saw, flat out with no warning?"  Duncan responded with laughter that danced across my ears as the light from the nearby fire flickered behind my eyelids. "But the way she cut through them…" his voice tapered off for a moment, "it was magnificent.  I didn't even do that well before my joining, and _I'm_ \--"

"I told you I was full of surprises," I croaked out no louder than a whisper, lazily blinking the heavy sleep from my eyes.  

"Oh, thank the Maker, you're alive," Alistair gasped, his face coming into focus next to Duncan's, both of them kneeling down, hovering over me.

"You were worried," a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"Well, I, uh," he fumbled, a tinge of rouge touching his cheeks. _He_ ** _was_** _worried_ , I thought. _That's so--_

"How are you feeling?" Duncan closely scrutinized me, his eyes peering into mine, watching them as they focused.  

And what a loaded question that turned out to be as reality quickly closed in around me. The more aware I became, the more the pain was evident: my throat that burned distantly was now like a wild fire, and my head that had felt like the rolling waves at sea began to pound like a hammer against an anvil in increasingly short increments.  My stomach plunged into churning, everything inside writhing, climbing upward; before I had time to think, I clumsily rolled over, vomiting everywhere.  

"Oh, oh, _oh_ ," Alistair mumbled as I unapologetically emptied the contents of my stomach in violent heaves. After the purging abruptly ended, leaving me hollowed out and hulled, the emptiness in my gut seemed to soothe away everything else almost instantly.  I collapsed backward again, any strength I'd regained fled forthwith as I fell just far enough back into the darkness to prevent speaking, to voices in the shadows.

"Alistair," Duncan advised after a moment, "see to it that she gets to her tent to recover for the rest of the evening, would you?"

Though there was no audible answer, two arms slid underneath me, one at my back and the other at the bend of my knees, lifting me effortlessly.  Suddenly I'd returned to that floating place, only for real this time, my body bobbing along listlessly to the rhythm of soft, calculated footsteps.

As the sounds of idle chatter and crackling fires came and went with each passing footstep, they lured me back into the present.  In no time at all it seemed, I'd been laid down on something remotely soft, and I tried desperately to open my eyes: in that moment I was alone in the quiet darkness of my tent.  

"Feeling better?" Alistair asked softly after a moment, peeking his head back into my tent as my eyes fluttered open.  I looked up at him as his emerging silhouette came into a hazy, almost focus:  the light from a nearby campfire shined brightly behind him, setting him to light as though he were the Maker himself come to rescue me.  

"Mmm," I strained, exhausted, nodding as best I could. As he proceeded further into my tent, I'd acutely noticed that he'd changed in the time he was gone, his armor replaced with something casual, faintly reminding me that I'd been right about those abundant muscles.  Perhaps he'd been gone longer than I thought. 

"The joining is tough on all of us," he said, a loose concern filling his voice. "I'm just glad you survived."  

"Thank you," I managed, though my throat felt raw and seared from the inside.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," he chuckled stiffly.  "Do you think you can sit up?  That is, unless you want to sleep in full armor.  I'll help you--well--unless you'd rather--I mean, I brought you one of my shirts--don't mind the holes--"  Amid his rambling a smile crept across my cheeks, as I nodded my head lightly.  

"No, of course," I muttered, progressively working towards propping myself up on my elbows and then up onto wobbling hands.  At this point I couldn't be particularly elitist about whom I accepted help from, and Alistair seemed an alright sort.  At least from his little outburst about Daveth earlier, I figured he wouldn't try anything unseemly.

There was a short pause, a hesitation, before his hand reached out to the buckle at my left shoulder, shaking lightly as he fumbled it between his fingers before moving to the right.  I absent-mindedly realized this would mean Alistair might catch more than a glimpse of me, much more than was likely proper, but as I gazed slightly up at him, his eyes were turned purposefully upward and the look on his face suggested that he deep in thought or conversation with himself as his fingers moved to the laces at my sides.  As he peeled through the layers of padding revealing the soft flesh beneath, he clamped his eyes shut immediately.  I flopped down into the bedroll with a small giggle and reached for the long shirt next to me, pulling it over my head with some effort, forcing my arms through the sleeves, and tugging at its hem until it decently covered me.  As the tip of Alistair's ears began to turn red, I wondered at how truly _good_ he was: a trait that seemed as foreign to me over the last week as any.  

"Did you mean it?" I asked gingerly, my throat still burning.  Alistair opened one eye carefully to see if I'd managed to cover myself up before handing me a canteen of water and proceeding to unlace my boots.

"What's that?" He said, managing the laces of my boots with much more grace than the buckles of my armor.

"When you said I was magnificent, did you mean it?" I tilted my head to the side after taking several small sips of water, looking up at him through long auburn eyelashes.  He smiled softly before returning his attention back to my boots, pulling the right one off with ease.

"Is that what I said?" his sarcasm returned quickly.  "I don't recall exactly."

"I'll take that as a yes," I closed my eyes for a moment as he removed my left boot, gently laying down my leg down on the bedroll. 

"Hmph," he chuckled shortly, gently.  After another moment passed, he glanced down at my face, knitting his brow.  "One more thing," he said as he moved up closer to my side.  "Do you mind?" he ambiguously gestured down at me.

"Not at all," I answered in the fleeting second before he gathered me up, supporting my back in the crook of his elbow.  He grabbed a damp cloth from the floor of my tent and began to dab at the corner of my mouth, gently wiping downward to the curve of my jaw.

"You, uh, got something on your face," he suggested.

_Oh, the vomit,_ I thought in muted frustration. I supposed it could've been worse, but there fewer things I was certain Alistair would find less appealing than cleaning the vomit off of a newly minted recruit.

"Not my finest moment," I offered in apology alongside a crumpled smile.  

"There," he said, wiping the last of it beginning to dry at the hairline near my ear.  As he finished, his eyes moved to meet mine briefly for a second before looking away. "It's alright," he quickly reassured me.  "I puked my guts out after my joining, too, so did the other recruit who made it.  It happens to everyone."

"That's a pretty lie."

He moved to lay me down delicately before looking me over one last time catching my warm, tired smile.  In my short time of knowing him, he'd really gone out of his way to help me, and even if it was because he was the junior warden assigned to babysit me through the joining, or if he was just simply following orders, I felt nothing but grateful.  He could've just left me alone to fend for myself, but he took the time to make sure I was really okay: there was hope for humanity still.  

"Mmm," I groaned in protest, furrowing my brow.  "Don't go.  At least not until I fall asleep," my eyes looked up into his eyes, weakly pleading. "Please?"

"That's a switch," he mumbled as he settled in again somewhat hesitantly after a moment passed. "Are you sure?" It wasn't hard at all to get comfortable: for as cold as it was outside, Alistair put off an intense amount of heat.  The more the seconds passed, the closer I was to sleep to the point where I was only faintly aware of the rising and falling of his chest, nestling in as close as possible instead of offering a verbal agreement.

Alistair cleared his throat lightly, "Are you comfortable or should I…?"  His voice faded out almost instantly, and before I could answer him, I'd gently drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, I found myself quite alone with the exception of Beau who slept at my feet facing the front of the tent.  I sat up being careful not to trigger any nausea, but to my surprise, I actually felt _good._ As I put on my armor a thousand questions raced through my mind; first, about the dragon that I'd been seeing in my dreams, then about what other secrets the wardens may be keeping.  Duncan did say there'd be a price, and I was determined to find out what that was.

I finished lacing my boots up quickly, and headed out to find anyone who could answer my questions.  As I exited my tent, a handful of other wardens sat around the campfire, looking over at me, cheering, while Beau circled the lot of them, barking excitedly.  Nearly all got up, congratulated me, and introduced themselves, all friendly and offering me a slew advice.  

In that moment my stomach growled with ferocity, rumbling throughout my whole body.  As I glanced past the crew of wardens surrounding me to where breakfast was being served, I noticed Alistair sitting alone, staring into a half-eaten bowl of porridge, as one of the wardens asked if I needed shown around or help with "literally" anything at all.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said, squeezing past them, shaking every outstretched hand as I passed by. "Thank you, but right now? I'm starving."  

The crowd of them burst out laughing at some sort of joke I'd missed as I made my way over to Alistair, grabbing a bowl of porridge for my self before taking a seat next to him with Beau curling up neatly at my feet.  I looked at him and smiled, but he didn't seem to budge, and it was more than a minute passed before I nudged his side lightly with my elbow.  

" _Andraste's floating kneecaps_ , woman," he gasped in surprise, nearly dropping his bowl of porridge directly in his lap. "You almost scared the life out of me."  

"Sorry," I frowned.  "I figured over the commotion and my having sat here for at least sixty seconds would've triggered some recognition of my presence, but you know."  

A tiny grin forced itself across Alistair's lips, before he nudged me back.  "I apologize: I find myself quite distracted today, but formal congratulations are in order aren't they, _warden_? I hope you're faring a bit better today than last night."

Immediately I scoffed and rolled my eyes, remembering that Alistair just wiped vomit off of my face only a few hours prior.  That wasn't exactly how I'd planned to make friends in the wardens, but it seemingly worked.  "Truthfully, Alistair," I admitted in my own surprised tone. "I feel amazing, stronger.  Is that even possible?"

"It _is_ possible," he said, his grin growing wider.  "That's one effect of the darkspawn blood: it gives you some of their strength and makes you able to sense them.  Cool, huh?"

"And the dragon?" I asked with some hesitance as Beau let out a dismal whine.

"Ah, did you have the nightmare?" his eyebrows fell a bit, the light in his face diminishing with them.  "Almost every warden sees the archdemon in their dreams during the Blight: that's how we know it's a true blight.  Nothing to be terribly frightened of, at least not for the moment."

"Does it…talk to you?" I figured if I was going to ask this much, I'd at least better be honest.  Alistair had proven that I could trust him so far, and I didn't see much point in keeping any secrets. 

"Does it talk to _you_?" he mirrored, now visibly taken aback.  "I mean, I know a few of the older wardens can understand it _sometimes_ , but you're implying that it makes actual sentences at you instead of the usual angry roar and dripping teeth thing, right? But to answer your question, no, it does not wake me up for late night chats underneath the moonlight."

"Right," I added, unassured. "And there have been multiple dreams throughout my entire life since I was kidnapped as a child.  Whenever something bad is about to happen, it usually shows up in my dreams as a kind of herald or something."

"Creepy," he said, his voice low.  "I wouldn't go mentioning that to everyone, first off, but you should absolutely tell Duncan. _That_ reminds me, we need to go meet with him as soon as possible, anyway." His voice changed again, filling with a little pride, "We have special orders from the King."

"The King?" I asked faintly, wondering if it had anything to do with Fergus. 

"Come on," Alistair motioned toward the center of camp with a nod. "Let's go see what hoops we get to jump through.  I, personally, hope they're flaming and surrounded by bears throwing knives: it's just not as fun otherwise."

I chuckled, shaking my head as I got up to follow Alistair and receive these special orders he'd mentioned, but before we made it too far, he walked a little slower so that he could stand next to me. "Forgive me for prying because I'm certain I'll regret asking this question," Alistair started apprehensively, "but what exactly, pray tell, does the archdemon say to you?  Color me a touch curious."

"Oh, you know, the usual," I shrugged. "Everyone you love will suffer, blah blah blah, hurting you will be fun, blah blah blah."

"It had to be that, didn't it," he asked sarcastically. "The archdemon couldn't just pop in to tell you you've won a pony or something fun, at least."

"Goes against his moral character," I smiled in response. "It wouldn't be right to command a legion of darkspawn _and_ give away ponies on the side."  Alistair broke out into light laughter, but I couldn't help but notice that as we walked past area where Cailan and his royal entourage made camp, Alistair's eyes glanced over and lingered for a single moment too long.  "You said you were distracted earlier," I offered after a moment of silence, clearing my throat. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"Your memory is too keen for your own good," he smirked, knowingly.  "That's the second time you've picked up on something with that wily intuition of yours.  I'll have to be more careful."

His admission, though coy, had left me feeling sad in some small way.  I hadn't meant for him to feel like I was keeping tabs or trying to get information to use against him: I genuinely wanted to repay his kindness in perhaps the only way I was able.  "Oh, no," I stopped short gazing up at him for a moment.  "I just wanted to be helpful if I could.  You were so nice to me last night, and I wanted to thank--" 

"No need to thank me," he tried to conceal his smile but fought a losing battle as we approached the table close to where the joining had been held the night prior covered in maps and strategic markers.  "It was my pleasure, and you fell asleep straight off anyway.  I didn't have to stay long."

"Just until a few hours ago, anyway, huh Alistair?" Duncan's voiced sounded from directly behind us as a vibrant scarlet climbed up Alistair's cheekbones in a swift flush.  

"You're not helping," Alistair murmured under his breath, his eyes drilling into Duncan's as he came around to the front of the table.  Duncan merely laughed, shaking off Alistair's now apparent anxious movements, merely enjoying watching Alistair squirm for a second.

"Now, I called you both here for a reason," Duncan stated, pointing down to a spot on the map sprawled out across the table, held down by a dagger on either end.  "The King has specifically asked that you both assist in lighting the signal fire at the Tower of Ishal as the battle unfurls today--" 

"You mean we're _not_ fighting with you and the other wardens?" Alistair asked, suddenly outraged.

"That's precisely what I mean," Duncan stated calmly but not without a very direct look in Alistair's direction that clearly asked him to stand down.

"Fine," Alistair's face took on an air of indignant petulance. "But just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, darkspawn or no."

The gaze held between Duncan and Alistair was intense to say the least, and I thought for a moment that they might break out into a physical altercation.  Alistair was very distinctly unhappy with not being allowed to fight directly in the battle with the other wardens, a seemingly touchy topic for Alistair, but I was actually relieved, unsure if I was ready to fight a battalion of darkspawn just yet.  As I glanced from Alistair to Duncan and back again, it became increasingly hard not to laugh.

"Now, that's something I'd be terribly interested in seeing," I mused, my eyes twinkling with mischief.  

"Only for you," Alistair glanced down at me, looking slightly less like an angry child.  "And only if the dress is a pretty one."

As Duncan expressed his annoyance at pairing us together, my own glance turned off into the distance, first considering the Tower of Ishal just a short length away, and then down to the battlefield below.  As Duncan gave specifics, I watched the men line up and form ranks, preparing for the horns to sound and lead them into battle.  A nervousness grew inside my stomach, but, again, I forced it away: Cailan had all but beaten the darkspawn until this point, and with best general in the land present to respond to our signal, nothing would go wrong.

"Understood?" Duncan asked, lifting an eyebrow at Alistair.

"Yes, sir," Alistair groaned in response. 

"Then off you go, and don't waste time," Duncan bid a bit more gently, perhaps supposing that Alistair had enough.

As we walked off toward the tower, Alistair seemed harder, more determined than before, and I struggled to keep up with him.  By the time I reached the bridge, he was nearly a quarter of the way across in a flash.  I managed to catch up, nearly out of breath, and wondered why he was so angry: from what I'd briefly come to learn about Alistair, he didn't seem like the kind of person to get angry over orders.

"This always happens to me," he said out of the corner of his mouth.  "They always keep me out of the fighting."

"Is there a reason for that?" I asked quietly in response.

" _None that I can think of_ ," he stated very matter-of-factly as the war horns sounded from below.  As Alistair continued to storm across the bridge, I stopped for a moment to look down, watching ranks of wardens and darkspawn collide together like waves breaking on a shore.  The battle had begun, and for as much as I'd dreamed of fighting in one as a child, this seemed a very different feeling than what I'd imagined all those years ago.  As the uneasiness of my stomach grew, I raced to rejoin Alistair, simply glad that, for once, the fighting would be left to someone else.

 


	14. Amid the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Alistair recover from Ostagar and decide where to go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to literally everyone for the kudos and comments that keep coming in! You guys are great, and it's what gives me motivation to continue writing! Thank you all so much!
> 
> In other news, things are busy on my end, and until mid-May it will likely stay that way. I'll try my best to keep things coming in on a regular basis. Just stay with me, and I promise you'll like what you read! : ]

To you I give dominion  
Over all that exists.  
By your will  
May all things be done.

\- Threnodies 5:1

For a long time, only those gruesome scenes, the aftermath of Loghain's betrayal, played over and over before my eyes.  Cailan's body, crushed and tossed aside like a figurine, and Duncan, fatally wounded and torn apart by the darkspawn: no one on the field stood even a remote chance.  Each time the sequence passed, I grew more and more aware that Alistair, too, had watched this unfold, and a vague feeling of empathy pervaded the stillness around me.  

"No, not yet," the voice of the dragon whispered from behind me.

I gasped, my mind struggled to pull itself together rather shoddily.  Things outside the battle at Ostagar were hazy, unclear.  I quickly tried to piece it together, first the tower, then the ogre, followed by the sensation of being peppered with arrows.  My body jerked involuntarily, each arrow hitting its target: three in my left shoulder, one in my stomach, another in my right thigh.  Then my senses drained, the life radiating to and swirling out of those pulsating wounds as a shadow resembling Alistiar stood over my body, fighting off the waves of incoming darkspawn.

"Yes, _that_ ," it urged, whispering into my ear.  " _More_."

The pain set in, aching more and more until nearly unbearable, held up only by paper thin breaths. My body began to fight against me, convulsing, trying to push away the unpleasantness of it all, in shock because it couldn't succeed.  Cold began to creep up my legs like knowing fingers until even the sound of Cailan's body crushing inside the ogre's palm echoed out into nothingness, and only a silent stagnancy remained. 

"It's your fault, you know," it said so softly, I could barely hear it, "all your fault."

"No," I managed, choking out the word as best I could.  Tears began to roll down my ashen, sunken cheeks.

"Duncan, the king, your family…" the voice paused, " _Ser Gilmore_.  You failed every single one of them.  How _could_ you?"

My heart broke at the mention of Ser Gilmore, a pained yelp escaping my lips.  Coldness turned to lightness, my body feeling both weighed down and rising at the same time.  My breathing grew short, my eyelids heavy, and at last my lungs rasped for air.

What should have been a sputter, the last fleeting breath, lingered into a long exhale.  Suddenly the light began to creep back in around me in flashes of gold and green, and the pain receded in short waves.  From what I could tell, I was being pulled in a thousand different directions, too many voices calling me, beckoning me in one direction or the other.  Soon all traces of the dragon faded away, replaced by vigilance, a long string of spells uttered and weaved over the span of hours, leagues away, calm and unwavering. 

Finally, a massive gust of air shot through me, sending my eyes right open.  My heart sped up for a moment, seemingly catching up with time, while my stomach teetered inside me.  _Oh, not this again,_ I thought, recalling recovering from the joining.  I felt like I'd been beaten to death and buried alive.

"Ah," Morrigan beamed through a proud smile. "You're awake."

"M-Morrigan?" I asked, still very groggy, my head swimming through a pool of thoughts thicker than pudding.  

"'Tis I," she answered politely, taking a damp, cool cloth to my forehead.  "Do you recall anything that has come to pass?" Her voice indicated that my scattered memories were likely correct, that the teryn fled the battle field and left us all to ruin.

"The tower," I muttered, trying desperately to pull it back together. "We, no, Alistair killed an ogre..."

"Then your general quit the field, I'm afraid," she added solemnly after a extended pause.  "Your friend is not taking it well."

"My friend? Alistair," I sat straight up in bed, my heart pounding against the cage of my chest.  As blood rushed to my head, white hot pain from my shoulder and stomach lit up from the inside.  I cried out lightly, sinking back down into the bed Morrigan had placed me in.  

"Did you also forget the fact that you've been _grievously_ wounded?" Morrigan chided me.  "Mother's magic saved your life, but you are far from healthy.  You'd do well to simply relax."

Slowly, I gathered myself up again and sat up at the side of the bed.  It wasn't hard to tell that I'd been injured, but the pain was more of an intense ache than a stabbing, ripping pain.  As I took in a few deep breaths, the memories began to come back to me more clearly: first the ogre dropping to the ground under Alistair, his sword lodged firmly in its skull as he rode it to the ground, then the vile show of Loghain's retreat as Alistair's screams echoed from the tower down the mountainside, and finally the darkspawn ambush, arrows impaling my flesh like needles in a pincushion.

"Or don't, 'tis of no concern to me," she continued, watching me stand up and gingerly stagger my way to the door.  

As I pressed the door open using it as a crutch, Alistair stood a few yards away, facing out toward the wilds, staring off into the distance, while Beau whimpered lightly beside him.  The tightness in my chest loosened a notch as I realized both were okay and accounted for, though I knew the same could not be said for many others.  That likely included Fergus, and I lightly cursed myself in spite of the words echoing through my mind.  I _had_ failed him.  I hadn't even _tried_ to search for him.

"See, not all is lost," Flemeth, Morrigan's mother, offered somewhat indignantly in Alistair's direction.  "She yet lives, and you worry too much, young man."

"You," Alistair's voice wavered, his eyes bright with tears.  "You're alive. I thought you were dead for certain."

"We covered this already," I smiled softly. "Full of surprises, remember?"

"And arrows," Alistair added quietly, and where he might have chuckled before, using his words as a joke or defense mechanism, he now seemed distant, quiet.  His observation wasn't a passing attempt at humor as much as it was a reminder or a reflection, and the light that had spread throughout him upon realizing that I lived quickly diminished again as his eyes fell to the ground. 

"Thankfully for us, Morrigan's mother was able to patch me up," I dipped down, a bit painfully, to meet his gaze with the same small smile.

"Of course," he agreed. "Without her we'd both be dead on top of that tower."

"You discuss me as though I'm not here," Flemeth interjected with a rapidly rising sense of annoyance, "but what you should be discussing is what comes next.  You'll have plenty of time to commiserate later."

This was true enough.  Alistair and I were so engrossed in the realization that we'd both survived, we'd forgotten about what comes next.  As the thought dawned on me, my stomach plummeted to the ground.  We were the only two wardens left in all of Ferelden, which meant that we were the only ones who were able to end the Blight.  While the fact that we were on our own was unnerving, our odds of success were doubly so.  

Alistair started to fidget nervously, his eyes still locked on the ground.  His mind was obviously in the same place as mine, and he didn't have a solid answer, either.  While I waited for him to take charge, offer some solution or any kind of lead, he glanced up at me with those amber eyes, still brimming, shining with tears.  It was becoming increasingly clear that Alistair was no better off than me.

"Well?" Flemeth asked, the exasperation still clinging to her tone.  After a moment, she turned her attention from Alistair to myself, and a brief moment of panic overtook me.

"Don't look at me," I blurted out. "Alistair is the real gray warden here, and besides, what can I do against a full-out Blight?"

Alistair's eyes widened in a flash, his face instantly contorting in surprise, anger.  "All of the grey wardens are dead, massacred on the battlefield, and I've lost everyone," his voice rang out in more panic than my own, pleading with me.  "For the love of the Maker, don't leave me alone in this. I can't do this on my own.  I _need_ you." 

I felt my heart fall into tiny pieces as I looked into Alistair's eyes.  Even if I'd had thoughts of leaving, running off on my own, I couldn't abandon him now.  I'd be no better than Loghain, and I perhaps better than anyone understood how he felt.  There had to be _something_ we could do.

"You _need_ an army," Flemeth enunciated.

"You're both right," I exhaled with a nod, releasing the terror building up inside me.  "We have to work together.  In times of certain loss against the Orlesians, grandfather always said that you have to work with what you've got.  What do we have work with that can build an army?"

"I, uh," Alistair's eyes searched the landscape before him in a frenzy.  He'd finally pulled himself together enough to help construct a plan.  "Ah, treaties!  We've got the grey warden treaties!"  He reached into his pack and pulled out the ancient folded papers, still there from our excursion into the wilds the night before.

"Excellent," I smiled wide and genuinely.  "That's absolutely a great start. I'd add Fergus and what's left of Highever to that list, but I don't even know if he's alive."  I sighed as the thought of Fergus flitted through my mind: he was likely long dead and never even made it to Ostagar.  While it did me no good to concentrate on it, there it was.

"Whatever we do," Alistair's voice turned to rage, "We need to see that Loghain sees justice, and warn people about the Blight."

"And just who would believe you?" Flemeth asked mockingly. "Unless you plan to convince this Loghain of his mistake."

"He just betrayed his own king!  If Arl Eamon knew what Loghain did at Ostagar, he'd be the first to call for his execution," Alistair spat angrily.

"Arl Eamon?" I asked, confused.  " _The Arl of Redcliffe_?"

"Well, yes," Alistair continued.  "He's a good man, well respected at the Landsmeet.  Above all, he's Cailan's uncle!  He wasn't at Ostagar, and his armies are still in Redcliffe.  I say we go there and appeal for his help."

"How will we get an audience with the Arl of Redcliffe, assuming that Loghain has painted us as rebels and usurpers?" I asked almost incredulously.  "Alistair, this is a great idea in theory, but we'll never make it through the gates!  Even as a teryn's daughter, I've only met him twice, not nearly enough to merit an invitation, and he likely thinks I'm dead from Arl Howe's ambush at Highever.  I don't mean to be rude, Alistair, but I don't see how that would work."

Alistair grew rigid for a moment, tense and stiff, until his body slumped down slightly.  He closed his eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths.  I wasn't sure if he was angry at me or simply lamenting the situation, but it was almost frightening, the look of calm that passed over his face.  When he opened his eyes, he looked at me reluctantly.

"I know him," he said shyly, unable to meet my eyes.  "He raised me."

My gut instinct was to press this further, dig deeper into the situation.  How could Arl Eamon raise him unless he was his bastard?  Even though I'd only met Eamon twice, he was a pious sort that didn't strike me as the kind to have affairs, let alone bastards, but I supposed that anything was possible.  Besides, he didn't look anything like Eamon. While my mind raced with possibilities, I realized there'd be time to ask about this later.  

"Well, that ought to surely get us an invitation," I said mustering a smile, reaching out to touch his arm.  It was clear from his voice that he didn't want to talk about it, and on top of everything, he'd just lost everything he'd known.  It was essentially like looking in the mirror at myself just a few days prior, and the picture wasn't pretty.

"But I'm not even sure that his army would be enough to defeat the Blight," Alistair continued, his voice still soft and low.

"If you're sure he'd help us," I began with as much certainty as I could gather, "Could we not add to that with the treaties?  They'd give us access to the elves, dwarves, and mages."

"Elves, dwarves, and mages?" Flemeth asked. "This Arl Eamon that you speak of?  It all sounds like an army to me."

"Could we do it?  Do you think we can really do it?" Alistair's face carried a small flicker of hope, and after all he'd just lost, that was more than I'd been able to do.  It was enough to make me want to carry on.

"Isn't that what gray wardens do?" I grinned at him, which he returned as best he could.

Before we left Flemeth's hut, she managed to surprise us one final time by sending Morrigan along with us, much to Alistair's dismay.  When Flemeth commanded that we bring Morrigan along, I saw it as an opportunity:  having a mage would be extremely helpful in battle and with practical things as well.  With instant access to an array of spells, we could set fires easily to keep warm and cook food.  While I was eager to ask Morrigan about all of her expertise in magic, Alistair was very off put.  With a little goading, he came around, though he was far from accepting her.  

This proved very true on our journey out of the wilds.  Morrigan had suggested that we make our way to Lothering, a town nearly a day and a half's walk from Ostagar, and as we progressed that way, any time Alistair had opened his mouth, Morrigan was quick to belittle him.  It was obvious that these two were never going to get along, and it had progressed to the point where Alistair had closed himself off, much like I had with Duncan, to the point of silence.  I did my best to focus on anything other than the physical and emotional pain presently permeating my body, focusing only on the task at hand: even mere steps grew more and more painful as we progressed.

The longer we marched on, the more my body began to give out.  We walked well into dusk, the sun sinking well behind the mountains, the sky painted in deep shades of royal purple, fading into black.  I tried my best to keep up, but with each step I fell a little farther behind until I nearly collapsed with both Alistair and Morrigan out of sight and only Beau to watch me fall.  As I stumbled, I groaned in pain as my leg and stomach wrenched in an awful, aching agony.  I forced myself forward until I could see Alistair just ahead waiting for me as Beau mirrored my pained groan.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the first words he'd spoken in over half a day.

"I'll be fine," I replied, offering a crumpled smile.

"Liar," he smiled back.  "Let's make camp.  We've walked long enough today."

In a little clearing just head, Alistair forced me to sit down, absentmindedly petting Beau, while he and Morrigan rushed around to make camp.  After Alistair gathered firewood, Morrigan made quick work of setting it to flame.  When my stomach rumbled in hunger, I bade Beau to go find us something to eat to save time, not expecting him to return with anything.  In less than ten minutes, he returned with three plump rabbits stuffed into his mouth, held in only by the strength of his jaw.

"Well, well," Morrigan offered, glancing down at Beau.  "We have a dog in the party and Alistair is still the stupidest one among us.  At least the dog is useful." Alistair glared at her as he sat down near me, not bothering to answer her at all. I simply prayed that neither would get me involved in their petty arguments.  "If neither of you mind, I'll settle in just there," she pointed a little grassy hillside not far off, tented by tall trees.

"Oh trust me," Alistair offered. "No one cares what you do.  Really."

As Morrigan walked off to her own little piece of solitude with one rabbit in hand, I grabbed and began to skin the others as Alistair found sticks to make a roasting spit.  Morrigan did the same on her own side of camp, and frankly, I preferred it that way.  Anything that would keep the two of them from bickering was more than welcome.

Once skinned, I set the pelts aside and began to gut them, thinking about what parts Beau might eat.  Once I felt a set of eyes on me, I glanced over to see Alistair gazing at me, though he quickly looked away once I caught him.  

"Alistair," I asked quietly as he assembled the spit, skewering the rabbits and placing them over the fire, "can I ask you a question?"

"I suppose you have a great many," he responded quietly.  "I'll do my best to answer them."

"How are you?  Truly?" I asked looking over at him, searching his face much like Duncan had done to me only a few days before.

"I…I," he began softly, slowly. "You don't have to do this to be polite.  I'll be alright."

"I'm not being polite," I said nudging his side. "I just thought you'd want to talk about it all.  I understand if you don't want to, though."

"It's hard, _really_ hard," he admitted, the words rushing from his mouth like a waterfall. "I can't believe they're all gone.  Duncan, all of them, they're all dead, and I just wish I'd have been there with them, that I could've done something. I keep convincing myself that I'd have made a difference somehow, that I could saved them."

"It wouldn't have mattered except that you'd be dead, too," I said without thinking.  He winced slightly as though he'd just been hit, though he returned to normal after a few seconds.  After a few moments had passed without any response, I realized that I'd perhaps been too harsh without meaning to be. "From my experience, being there, it didn't help much, but Duncan was a good man.  He didn't deserve this."

"No," Alistair quietly agreed, turning the spit so the rabbits cooked evenly. "He truly didn't."  After a small pause, he glanced over at me again with some urge written across his face to talk.  I smiled at him softly, offering permission.  "He was like the only family I had, you know.  The only person who ever cared about what I wanted.  I know you didn't know him as well as I did, but it feels good to talk about him.  I thought it would hurt more."

"He saved me, too, Alistair," I agreed, reaching down to scratch Beau's ears. "He actually said something to me that really helped me when we left Highever.  I regret not being more grateful when I had the chance."

"What did he say?" he tilted his head slightly to one side, raising his eyebrows in interest. 

"I'd been such a brat on our journey to Ostagar, not speaking to him or being mopey, which I suppose was understandable, but the last night before we reached Ostagar, I asked him about how so much of life is beyond our control.  He looked at me and said that it should make us want to do something all the more, like saving the world.  It seems even truer now than it was days ago, which I didn't think could be possible.  Even beyond the grave, he's still cheering me on."

The corner of Alistair's eyes filled with tears before he could choke them down again. As he rubbed them away, he glanced over at me with a small smile. "I wish he was here with us."

"Me, too," I smiled back at him.  

After a moment passed, Alistair elbowed me in the side softly, just enough to make my lips purse from the pain.  He chuckled apologetically before taking a deep breath. "I want to thank you," he said gently. 

"For what?" I asked, surprised.  "I should be thanking you.  You took care of me after my joining, and you protected me for as long as you could until Flemeth appeared in the tower.  I owe you my life."

He blinked hard several times, almost taken aback.  Alistair seemed as though no one had ever thanked him before, acknowledged that he'd done something profound.  He nodded, clearing his throat, as he returned his attention to me.  "I'm sorry to keep prattling on," he said, as I stuck my dagger into one rabbit's side to see if the meat was thoroughly cooked.  "You've lost more than I'll ever know, and here you are, bearing it so well.  How do you do it?"

"I try not to think about it, Alistair," I admitted openly. "Mother, Father….Maker knows if Fergus is out there, and I never even tried to find him at Ostagar.  His wife and my nephew brutally slain.  I couldn't save them, and like you, I feel like it's my fault…"

Where he must have expected that I'd say something uplifting, he wilted in the presence of my words.  It felt wrong to lie, and I didn't really have the energy once I had to focus on it.  I'd tried for days to push those feelings down continuously to have them dredged up again.  My body felt heavy under the weight of it all.

"But it's not," he said, placing an arm around me. 

"It's not your fault, either," I agreed with him, easing into the crook of his arm. "But can I ask you a real question, Alistair?"

"This ought to be good," he said looking just down at me.  I frowned at him in mock disgust.  "Oh alright, shoot."

"When we were fighting darkspawn in the tower, I was able to make them out as we got closer, like a kind of signal going off in my mind…" I began.

"And?" Alistair prodded.

"Well, there was something else there, something familiar.  I can't make it out: it's faint and still there," my brow furrowed in confusion as I tried to focus on it.

"Describe it to me," he said considering my words carefully.

"With the darkspawn it was angry, like an alert, but this…it glowed like a lantern in a blizzard, and it confused me. I focus in on it, but it doesn't emit the same buzzing that sensing the darkspawn did; instead of buzzing, it hums softly, lightly, like wet fingers against the rim of a crystal glass."

"Did it occur to you that we both have darkspawn blood in us, so what you're likely sensing is--"

"That's _you_?!" I asked in great surprise. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"It's not like you've had a ton of time to mull things over, has it?" he smiled in spite of himself.

"I suppose not," I said, my mind turning over the thought of Alistair's presence amid the darkspawn. "And me,  what sound do I have?  You ought to be honed in on that now better than I am," I urged.

"It's like…" he paused, closing his eyes. "bells--no chimes, like chimes on a breeze.  It's quite nice, actually, like fairies or something pretty." We both blushed a little after he uttered the words.  "I, uh," he said, clearing his throat, "had learned to tune that out: being around so many wardens, things tends to get _loud._ "

"I can imagine," I tried to relate while the warmth lingered in my cheeks.

Alistair began to tell me all kinds of stories about the wardens to ease the tension, about recruits who'd fallen into funny scenarios and senior wardens who had made the order like a brotherhood.  The stories continued even after we'd eaten, his arm still around me the entire time.  Alistair seemed like the kind of guy who liked to be protective, and for the moment, I was very comfortable and glad to have somewhere to rest that didn't hurt.

As his stories, not unlike Duncan's, continued into the night, the fire flickered beautifully before us: a truly beautiful sight indeed.  The stars twinkled in the sky and the moon rose higher and higher as I grew more and more exhausted.  Soon Alistair's words faded out into that crystalline hum that I'd come to recognize, and finally I gave in, letting it sing me to sleep.


	15. Signs of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As James, Alistair, and Morrigan make their way to Lothering, some interesting faces join their cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how it happened, but this is a really long chapter. There's a bright side to this, though, which is the fact that the plot is picking up! Enjoy!

Here, I decree  
Opposition in all things:  
For earth, sky  
For winter, summer  
For darkness, Light.  
By My Will alone is Balance sundered  
And the world given new life.  
\- Threnodies 5:5

I awoke in the early morning, the sun rising, listless, just below the trees, and I found myself in the same place I'd fallen asleep.  Alistair hadn't stirred at all, his arm still draped around me like a blanket: though he looked no worse for wear, he must have been tired and understandably so.  Immediately I felt guilty, moving slightly to let him silently know I'd come to.

"Good morning," he said, looking down at me with a slight grin.

"Good morning, yourself," I replied through a stifled yawn, the sleep still desperately hanging on to my voice.  Though the night before I'd felt sore and aching, residual pain from my wounds at Ostagar, it was replaced by a bit of stiffness but nothing more.  I was pleasantly surprised, and took a moment to silently praise Flemeth's handiwork. After all, things very well could have been much worse.  "You didn't have to stay here all night, you know," I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes.

"I know," he said quiet and low, his glance still lingering.

After a moment I stood up, surveying my surroundings until Morrigan appeared with a small satchel filled with berries, which she quickly forced into my hands with a polite nod.  She peered over at Alistair, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing and walked away without a single word.  She, too, had apparently decided it was too early to begin sardonic banter with Alistair, which also made me insanely thankful.

As I shoved a handful of berries into my mouth, I passed the satchel to Alistair, and though he initially turned up his nose at Morrigan's offering, he quickly realized that in a shortage of food, he had no room to be picky.  As we made our way to Lothering, closing in on the little town by making excellent time, I made conversation with Morrigan while Alistair kept quiet.  Though the tension was obvious, so intense you could nearly cut it, they both maintained civility through silence.  That is, until we encroached upon the outskirts surrounding Lothering.

From what I could tell, Lothering seemed to be in a poorer state than I'd anticipated.  After the defeat at Ostagar, those who had money and were able had fled the impending darkspawn threat, and those who didn't or could not had come there to seek refuge.  It was also clear from the gang of unkempt thugs and the people in cluttered masses just beyond the town gate that anyone who'd passed this way had been robbed blind of what they _did_ have, which obviously wasn't much. While the band of miscreants was dirty, the townspeople and refugees were even more so, which is very likely what set me off when the thieves approached us.

All they did was ask for a handful of silvers, and that's all it took.  By looking our armor over, they easily guessed that we were better off than the refugees or defected soldiers, and they decided they might take advantage of us.  I immediately stepped forward, trouble glinting in my eyes as I raised my sword and beckoned them forward.  If they wanted silvers that we didn't have, they were going to have to cut them from my flesh.

We dispatched them easily, too easily.  While Alistair charged them with his shield and Morrigan cast dark magic in threads of plum and amethyst, the likes of which I'd never dreamed, I dove on top of the leader, taking him to the ground, finally straddling him with a knife dangerously pressed to his throat.  As he begged for his life, promising to leave Lothering on pain of death, I looked his mates in the eyes who had stopped cold and beat him to his intended promise: as I locked eyes with his men, a wicked smile crept across my cheeks as I slit his throat, blood spewing onto the stone ledge in heavy spurts in between gurgling gasps of cold morning air.   In their panic, they tried to escape, but Alistair easily blocked the stairs while Beau and I flanked them from behind, and with Morrigan's help, we took them down swiftly.

That was the first time I'd ever felt good about killing a man, or anything really, and I decided to put that to good use.  With a chantry just off in the distance, I assumed there'd be requests from the locals that could use some honest attention on the chanter's board, and we were in dire need of money.  I wanted to make good on that energy while I still had it.

"Well, here it is. Lothering," Alistair chimed pleasantly as we descended the stairs into town. "As pretty as a painting."

"Ah, so, you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" Morrigan swooped in for the kill before either Alistair or myself could blink. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"  

Maybe it was the fact that I felt sorry for Alistair, or perhaps it was that I'd just lost my own loved ones as well that caused me to stop Morrigan.  I couldn't say which, and truthfully, it was very likely both.  While their worthless quarreling already annoyed me to no end, it usually revolved around a topic equally as stupid as the fights themselves; however, this time, something in me couldn't let her make light of his loss, not so soon.

"Is my being--"

"Morrigan,"I said lightly, stepping between the two of them, "please don't.  Alistair and I have just watched people we love violently slaughtered before our very eyes, barely escaping with our own lives.  All I ask is that we be allowed to grieve in our way: a courtesy that, should you ever need it, will be offered to you in turn."

"Do you intend to fight all of his battles for him?" she eyed Alistair over my shoulder, and I could feel him seething behind me.

"She's not--"

"Just this one," I nodded with a sad smile.  

" _Very well,_ " she crossed her arms at her chest, her voice very marked.  

I sighed, stepping back from between them in order to face them both.  "Alistair," I managed as cheerfully as possible. "You were saying?"

"Before I was so _rudely_ interrupted…" his voice was rife with sarcasm until I caught his eye with a warning glance. "Anyway, I figured we ought to talk about where we intend to go first."

"What do you lot think?" I asked, glancing from Alistair to Morrigan.

Morrigan spoke up immediately, suggesting that we attack Loghain head on so that we could pursue the treaties in peace, cutting the snake off at the head.  Alistair scoffed, pointing out the flaws in her argument: we'd likely be able to get close to Loghain without an army, or at the minimum more help than we currently had.  He then reiterated his thoughts on going to Redcliffe to speak with Arl Eamon, though something about him seemed uncertain. For the second time, Alistair seemed very reluctant to make a choice; this time, he was clearly going to rely for answers.

"I think Redcliffe is as good a place as any to start," I offered as Morrigan scowled and rolled her eyes. "It's not far from here, only a few days walk around the bottom of Lake Calenhad, and it's central to two sources for our treaties.  We can start with the foundation of an army, if Arl Eamon will be so gracious to offer it, and then build up as needed."

" _That_ is an excellent plan," Alistair agreed readily. "I knew I let you choose for a reason."

"The reason being that _she_ actually has a functioning brain?" Morrigan retorted with a clear bitterness.  

My jaw set immediately in frustration, and I cast my eyes to the ground in a very pointedly irked stare.  "All right, children," I said, the irritation in my voice bubbling through. "Redcliffe it is."

Before we set off for Redcliffe, I realized that we desperately needed supplies and had no money to buy them. Much to Morrigan's general distaste, we headed over to the chanter's board, picking up a few odd jobs before collecting a small reward for "removing" the bandits at the town's entrance.  As we cleared the surrounding area of bears and gathered some things for the locals, we encountered a Qunari warrior locked in a cage who informed us of his plight.  Though he'd be imprisoned for murdering a small handful of people, he at least seemed remorseful enough and anxious to atone.  

 _What a shame to just leave him to die,_ I thought.  _The darkspawn will be here soon, and once they are…_

The image in my mind was too gruesome to finish the thought: on our way from the wilds, we'd seen the result of darkspawn feasting as we snuck past, and it was grossly unpleasant to say the least.  I shook my head, clearing my mind of those disgusting pictures and returned to the task at hand.  After we'd finished and collected the rewards for the jobs we'd completed, Morrigan suggested doing a bit of reconnaissance, which led us directly to the nearest tavern.

As we entered Lothering's public house, a small group of Loghain's men were questioning patrons about the gray wardens.  While we tried to remain low key, his men picked us out almost immediately, drawing their weapons in order to start a fight. Oddly enough, a chantry sister attempted to step in and stop the fight, but Alistair and I followed the soldiers' lead while Morrigan began charging a spell behind us.  

I twirled my dagger between my fingers until the first soldier stepped toward us: I quickly threw it, hitting him square between the eyes, and his body fell to the floor in a rumpled, twitching pile.  As I set my right foot firmly on his head, I reached down and pulled the dagger out with a sudden jerk. Alistair used his shield to knock the others into tables and chairs, forcing them to fall over, and as they lost their footing, the chantry sister jumped into the battle, pulling out a set of daggers, catching one of the men in the ribs.

The fight ended as quickly as it began, and we sent their commander packing.  I could tell Alistair was desperate to get revenge on Loghain, a sentiment that I shared in my own way, but killing the soldier would do him no good. Instead we sent the soldier back to his master with a message:  Loghain would have to do better than a small pack of ill-trained soldiers to get rid of us.

As the surprise and tension in the pub died down with the exit of the soldier, the patrons nearly forgetting that we were outed as gray wardens and so-called "public enemies," the chantry sister caught my attention.  She stood there, as covered in blood as Alistair and myself, and I felt obligated to thank her: she had helped us, after all.

"Sister," I began with a small bow, "let me take this opportunity to thank you for your service.  It's appreciated."

"Appreciated enough to let me join you?" she smiled as her crystal blue eyes danced with hope, set to light amid a cascade of auburn hair. "My name is Leliana, and it would be my pleasure to assist you further."

I was immediately taken aback: what could a sister of the chantry want with a band of rogue warriors, even if we were gray wardens?  I raised an eyebrow at her in intent curiosity.  "And why would you want to help us?  Did you not see that the teryn's men are after us?"

"You are grey wardens, are you not?" she motioned first to myself and then to Alistair. "I've had a dream, a vision from the Maker that has inspired me to take up your cause, and as you can see, I am no ordinary lay sister."

"Weird," Alistair muttered behind me.  "And here I thought we were full up on crazy." I forcefully stepped to the side with my right foot, slamming it down right on top of his.  As Alistair silently winced in pain, getting the better part of my meaning, I smiled prettily at Leliana.

"Please, the pleasure is mine, and you may call me James," I said as kindly as I could.  "As you may know, we are in need of skilled help, and you are more than welcome to contribute as you wish."

"Perhaps you cracked your head harder than mother thought," Morrigan chimed in, too far away to do more than send a angry glance.  With a warm welcoming committee like Alistair and Morrigan, I could tell we'd have no shortage of ready participants.  I turned my attention back to Leliana, resuming my smile, only now the annoyance clearly shone through, as I gestured toward the door.

With that, Leliana joined us and came in more useful than we could have planned.  In fact, as we exited the pub, I lamented the qunari's state out loud, and she immediately picked up on the fact that he might be useful to us, intimating that she might be able to help us acquire his freedom.  Sure enough, sweet talk, a fistful of pleases and thank yous, and a thirty silver tithe later, the qunari, Sten, had joined our ragtag band.

Instead of leaving Lothering straight off, the afternoon sun burning high in the sky, I divided the money we'd earned from the jobs we'd completed earlier between Alistair, Morrigan, Sten, and myself; Leliana, however, refused her share, stating that she had some money stashed away elsewhere.  I insisted that everyone take some time to get supplies and the odds and ends we'd need for traveling: tents, bedrolls, food, canteens, cookware, and the like.  By dealing with a local merchant diplomatically in favor of the townsfolk, maybe with a little force sprinkled in, the merchant's prices dropped dramatically, benefitting both our party and the townsfolk alike.  This meant we were able to get goods much cheaper than I'd anticipated, leaving a little room to purchase some extras.  

As a teryn's daughter fraught with inventive tendencies, I put that resourcefulness to good use, finding a little golden symbol of Andraste and a few other small trinkets to give the others as an offering of my thanks: I found myself recalling Duncan's theory, remembering that it's better to recruit with pleasantries than the stark reality of what lied ahead.  The only person that I couldn't find a thing for was Alistair, though after we managed to fight through a band of locals after the price on our heads and a small batch of darkspawn, I rummaged through a broken chest, stumbling on a small, carved statuette of a robed woman, and turned it over tenderly in my hands: it was an odd find, to be certain, but something in my gut told me that Alistair would enjoy it.  

By clearing out the darkspawn that had set in, we in turn saved a dwarven merchant, Bodahn Feddic, and his son, Sandal.  While I had hoped they'd travel with us, if only to help cart around some of our goods and sell other items to us, Bodahn declined citing that the "complex" nature of our journey might be too much danger for his son.  

"No sense in being too greedy," Alistair leaned over and whispered in my ear as we walked away. "We've already recruited half the town."

I laughed in spite of myself, and realized that I should have been simply thankful for the help of two skilled fighters.  As we set off for Redcliffe, Leliana regaled us with several stories, filling us in on her life in the Chantry and before that as a bard.  To be honest, I was thankful for another woman in our group who was friendly and liked to talk: it made the walking all the easier, even if all she did was tell us stories about Aveline of Orlais and legends of Flemeth, which Morrigan mysteriously silent on, even after some of Alistair's famous instigation.

Sten, on the other hand, was a completely different matter.  He was stone cold and silent as the grave.  He spoke only when spoken to and in monosyllabic returns.  It wasn't that he was hostile, though he was somewhat aggressive, it was more that he just didn't like or understand small talk.  I took that as a cultural difference: the qunari seemed, at least from what Brother Aldous had taught me, a very proud and rigid race of warriors driven to their own predestined purpose, which was very likely not chitchat.  With that in mind, I was happy to simply let him be himself, and figured he'd open up in his own time or not at all.  If all he did was serve our cause, I really couldn't ask for more.

With the knowledge that we had more than a few day's worth of food at our disposal, we made our way toward Redcliffe until my stomach began to rumble, ready to mutiny.  I figured if Alistair was going to let me lead, I would take that privilege to the dinner table. Around dusk we settled in for camp, far enough off of the main road to avoid attracting other travelers.  Try thought we did, we still managed to find Bodahn and his son Sandal right behind us, second guessing their decision to travel without us.  While I tried to mask my excitement, I knew it'd be easier to travel with a merchant as long as they minded themselves.

I also found that setting up camp with almost double the pairs of hands went much smoother than the night before, even though we had much more equipment to sort and set up.  While Alistair was in charge of assembling tents, Sten, Beau, and I to scout the area and look for fire wood, which left Morrigan and Leliana to begin preparing dinner.  As I set out to the left of camp to begin scouting with Beau sniffing the ground, likely searching for hidden treasures, Sten decided to take the opposite side of camp to cut down on time.  Toward the end of my search, my arms full of firewood, I must have lost track of time taking in the beauty of the Bannorn.  My mind turned to Ser Gilmore, remembering that the Bannorn was his home, and as I looked up into the sky, the first stars of night dappling the sky, shining faintly in the twilight.  

 _What would he make of all this?_ I wondered idly as my thoughts crept back to Highever. Though there was no going back and reversing the events of the past week, I found my heart aching for home, anything familiar.  The more I walked amid the surrounding trees, snaking a path through them, I unknowingly began humming a tune that mother used to sing to me as a child: she'd once said that it was a faerie song, used to lure children from their beds and into the traps they'd set, and little did she know that this made love it all the more.  As I lost myself in the memory of her, of Highever, the words carelessly lilted out of my mouth as I sang along.

"Come away with me, young lass,  
Through the willows and the wilds.  
Oh say you'll run away with me,  
My darling, bonnie child.

Come away with me, sweet girl,  
Through the marshes and the moors.  
If you'll run away with me,  
You'll ne'er be sad no more.

Come away with me, my love,  
From your castle by the sea.  
Meet me in the pale moonlight:  
Only then can you be free."

"That was lovely," Alistair's voice sounded smoothly from behind me suddenly as I finished.  Scared witless, I accidentally dropped all of the firewood I was carrying, and Beau barked at me, not unlike laughter while Alistair joined him.  I turned around quickly, my face rose red in mortification: it had been years since I'd sang for an audience.

"I--I--" I stammered, unable to get any words out.  Alistair rushed to my side, bending down with me to gather the firewood I'd dropped.  His smile reached from ear to ear, proud that he'd been able to get the best of me.

"The others thought you'd run off, left us all for dead," he said, trying to suppress his gigantic grin.  "But I knew you were likely just stealing a moment for yourself, though I thought I'd better look just to be sure."

I nodded in response, the humiliation written all over my face.  I'd been embarrassed enough when father would make me sing to entertain guests, but I'd gotten so lost in myself that I couldn't believe I'd let Alistair sneak up on me. I never considered myself very good at entertaining, and I was positive that Alistair was just making fun of me.

"Shouldn't I have been able to sense you creeping up on me?" I asked with a very pointed glance.  "I know there are no darkspawn here, but shouldn't I have been able to tell?"

"Why?" he asked as his grin returned, unfettered and all out. "Would you not have sang as prettily for me, my little linnet bird?"

"Why, ah, I wouldn't have at all if I'd have known you were lurking about," I snapped at him, snatching the firewood out of his hands.

"Oh, _cheeky_ ," he said, crinkling his nose in delight.  

"You're mocking me, aren't you?" I spat as I raised my eyebrows in frustration, ready for a confrontation. _He seriously is making fun of me_ , I thought.  The words raged through my mind like a lightning storm. Couldn't clearly see how embarrassed I was?  I thought it very cruel that he'd stoop to his antics after seeing how riled up this had made me.

Alistair bent over to scratch Beau behind the ears, cupping his face in his hands. "She's a smart one, isn't she boy?" his tone was similar to how a new mother might speak to a baby. "Yes she is!  Yes she is!"

While it was good to see Alistair back to being his normal self, I didn't much care for it at my expense.  In fact, his laughing at my humiliation enraged me to no end more and more with each passing second, and the ire built up so quickly that I couldn't control it.  Within seconds I'd firmly decided that I'd had enough, clumsily lobbing the armfuls of wood at Alistair, storming off back to camp.  And to think, I'd wanted to give him something to show my thanks.

Once I reached camp, I threw myself down next to the empty fire pit, looking rather cross: everyone saw me, but no one dared to say anything.  In a few minutes, Alistair returned with Beau, fumbling with the firewood overflowing in his arms.  He set the wood down, and began to build the fire, careful to avoid making any eye contact.  After he got the wood in order, the excess stocked close enough to carry over in case the fire died out, Morrigan made quick work of lighting it, and Leliana began to make dinner. 

After we all ate in awkward silence, everyone began to disperse one by one, and I took that as my opportunity to disperse gifts to the deserving.  I sat down with Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten separately, gave them their relative gifts, and told them a little about myself: who I was before the Blight, why that might cause issues for us as far as being tracked down was concerned, and asked a little about them, too.  Everyone understood and appreciated my honesty: it was important to me to foster that honesty in our group, knowing that secrets tend to cause more trouble than they're worth.  

Leliana loved the golden symbol of Andraste, exclaiming three times over how "dear" it was of me to give it to her.  Morrigan was humbled, nearly speechless at the sight of the small golden chain I'd purchased from the tavern in Lothering for her: I wasn't sure she'd ever been given a proper gift before, and I thought the necklace suited her.  Sten was mystified by the bag of cookies I'd purchased for him at first, but once I could convince him to taste one, he immediately shoved four more directly into his mouth, chomping down and dispensing crumbs everywhere.  I wasn't sure what to get him, admittedly, but I couldn't think of anyone I'd ever known who didn't like sweets. With everyone so happy with their presents, I made a mental note to continue the tradition: seeing their happy faces really lifted my spirits, and I found that the anger I'd harbored from Alistair's stint earlier had vanished.

And then I remembered his forlorn face during dinner and the little carved figure in my pocket.

I'd been too hard on him, and as I watched Sten gorge himself on cookies, I looked over his should to see Alistair sitting alone by the fire, frowning as he gazed into it.  My happiness instantly fled: it wasn't that he'd made me angry, I realized.  It was the fact that those feelings about home had surfaced, that I had no time to react to them, and then he laughed at me.  I knew he was just trying to be funny, trying to lighten the mood, but even I wasn't strong enough to adjust so quickly in the moment. It was the same reason why I'd gotten so mad at Morrigan that morning and jumped to his defense.

When Sten finally offered me a cookie, the last few of several dozen left in the bottom of the satchel, I grabbed three and put them in a small pouch with the figurine.  I walked over to Alistair and sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry," I sighed, nudging him. "I shouldn't have acted like that earlier."

"It's okay," he replied, his tone laced with sadness.  "I'm an idiot.  I get it.  Morrigan is so ready to remind me of that, but I didn't expect that you'd feel the same way."

"No, Alistair," I said, turning toward him, subconsciously reaching out to touch his arm, "it's nothing like that.  You just…It just…The song was one my mother sang to me as a young girl, a fairie song." The pain I'd been harboring began to bubble up again, and silent tears fell from my eyes.  "I just miss them so much," I muttered, my voice faltering, "and you couldn't have known that."

"Hey, hey," he said, lifting his right hand to my chin, raising it to look into my eyes, "it's me who should be sorry, not you.  You keep yourself together so well, and I wasn't thinking.  I should've dropped it when you got upset."

"No harm done," I sniffed, wiping the tears away.  As I shifted my weight, the pouch with the figurine clanked against my armor, reminding me of the gift. "Here," I nudged him. "I got you something."

"It's not going to bite me, is it?" He eyed the pouch skeptically.  "Or throw firewood at me?"

"No," I chuckled delicately. "Go ahead."

Amid the cookies and crumbs, he pulled out the carved statuette and cupped it in his hands gently as though he thought if he dropped it, it might shatter into a thousand pieces.  He turned it over carefully in the light of the fire, admiring it from every angle, a smile slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth. The way the light caught the curves of his face, he was breathtakingly handsome, his rugged and masculine features highlighted, the golden tones of his eyes sparkling.  I couldn't help myself but watch contentedly as he handled the figurine gracefully, considering each and every little intricate detail.

"Admiring the view?" Leliana chimed as she walked past, winking at me.  She'd also caught Alistair's attention, who looked up just in time to see my jaw drop and those burgundy shades return to my cheeks.  

"You think I'm _handsome_ ," the tone in his voice ascended somewhat in giddy surprise as he looked at me.

" _What?!_ No--I…" I stopped dead and paused for a moment.  His smile grew wider and wider with each passing second. "I just wanted to thank you, you know, for being there for me these past few days."

"But you _do_ think I'm handsome," he pressed further, leaning forward, shoving a cookie into his mouth.  

"You know you are," I said shyly, the heat rising to my face.  If I'd have blushed any harder, I was sure I'd have caught fire, myself.  "You don't need me to tell you that."

"Maybe not," he said after swallowing, "but I won't tire of hearing it if you'd like to keep reminding me."  He looked pleased as punch, like a cat that captured a canary.  After a beat, his eyes lowered to the ground, his jaw swaying slightly to the right and back again through an open grin.  My gut twinged in response to how attractive he made even the subtlest of movements look, but after a second I realized he wasn't going to return the compliment, not that he had to, not that I _expected_ him to, but it struck me that perhaps he didn't feel the same way. Maybe this whole time he'd been teasing me or being, Maker forbid, _brotherly_ in how he'd taken care of me.  My stomach fell as I went over the events quickly in my mind, realizing that I was likely right.  Suddenly, the feeling of disappointment that had washed over me took me very much by surprise.  Where had this come from?

I gulped hard, standing up to leave and go to crawl into my tent and hide, but he reached up, grabbing my hand.  "Thank you, for this," he rolled the figurine between his fingers, shaking it lightly.  "How did you know I had a fondness for them?"

"A good guess, I suppose," the touch of his hand took my breath away, making me feel like a fool.  There was no good reason to feel this way, not after…well, not so soon.  

"Hmm," he hummed, the smile still playing on his lips.  As I backed away, his eyes focused back on the little figure in his hand, glimmering with contentment in the firelight. 

 _At least he liked the gift_ , I thought as I trudged back to my tent, intent on convincing myself out of whatever it was that decided to come over me in regard to Alistair.  _This is a Blight_ , I persuaded myself, _and there's no place for that, not with him and not now. What about Ser Gilmore?_

As I crawled into my tent, Beau was waiting for me, snuggling up next to me as I removed my armor and laid down on a fresh, new bedroll.  While it was certainly nicer than sleeping on the ground, it gave me no comfort.  Instead, guilt began to accompany the disappointment as I thought of Ser Gilmore, even though I knew he was gone.  In some small way, I'd betrayed him, failed him once again.  Nothing could've made me feel worse in that moment, nothing at all.

As Beau laid next to me, his back curling into my stomach and his head pushing up into my chin, I wrapped my arms around him, and silently cried myself to sleep from haunting loneliness, from overwhelming guilt, and from a silly sense of disappointment.  _Tomorrow,_ I thought, _I'll deal with this tomorrow._


	16. Get Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise between James and Alistair as they approach Redcliffe.

Heaven has been filled with silence,  
I knew then,  
And cross'd my heart with shame.  
\- Andraste 1:11

Over the next few days, I'd tried my best to put recent events in perspective: all of the sudden, traumatizing life changes, faces that had become memories, and the mounting political unrest that was quickly spreading to all corners of Ferelden.  I'd been keeping my distance from everyone as I took time to sort through all my feelings and the weirdness with Alistair.

I stayed as removed from Alistair as I could without seeming pointedly upset with him.  If he had cause to speak to me, I was close enough that he could, but not so close that he might speak to me without a real reason to initiate conversation.  Part of me felt like I had a growing fondness for Alistair because I'd mistaken "duty" in his taking care of me that night at Ostagar as something more, and the more I considered it, the more it dawned on me that I'd really just wanted someone, anyone to hang on to.  At first he didn't seem to notice at all; in fact, he'd gone much about his business, bickering with Morrigan and chatting with Leliana about their relative experiences in the Chantry as we worked our way around the rough, rocky terrain surrounding the banks of Lake Calenhad.  It wasn't until the second that he approached me to ask if something was wrong, when I cooly assured him that things were all right, that he began to keep his distance from _me,_ spending time talking strategy with Sten or indulging Beau with saved or stolen treats as they sat by the fire.

On the bright side, in that short time I'd been able to forge a friendship with Leliana.  On our second night out of Lothering, she offered to comb and braid my hair, as it dried by the fire.  To my delight, she'd packed a soft boar hair paddle brush, one similar to what mother used, and worked it through my long, thick hair.  After she brushed it, she admired the wavy, deep red tendrils that cascaded down to the center of my back, and as she admired them, her fingers worked them into all kinds of braids and curls.  The more she fussed with it, the less I wore it so close to my head, and suddenly it seemed I got used to wearing it loosely in a bun at my crown with little strands falling down in waves.

On the morning before we reached Redcliffe, Leliana and I had gotten up early to make breakfast for the others.  By this time we'd talked already talked each other up and down: she knew about my family in Highever, the feelings I'd been harboring over their deaths, and how I missed them.  She, too, had confided in me, and in no time at all I'd learned about her own mother and how the scent of Andraste's Grace would always give Leliana cause to remember her. In fact, I was finally starting to feel like I could begin to be myself.

As we threw together a kettle of porridge, Sten paced around across camp, obviously waiting for something.  With his arms crossed, his eyes were searching the treeline.  Soon enough, Alistair emerged in nothing but boots and leather breeches, his sword and shield in his hands.  Sten drew his weapon, and for a moment the two began to circle each other.

"Oh, what fun," Leliana purred, stirring the kettle's slowly bubbling contents, as she nodded towards Sten and Alistair.  

"You think so?" I said, giggling.  "I don't know about you, but I'm sure Alistair is about to have his arse handed to him in a hand basket.  Sten is absolutely massive: it's no contest."

"I don't know," Leliana's eyes narrowed, watching their footwork intently. "The stronger opponent is not always victorious.  There's something to be said about a warrior's confidence, spirit, passion…"  Her voice trailed off as she watched them, and Alistair's bare chest began to glisten with sweat in the rising morning sun.  So far he'd succeeded in blocking all of Sten's advances, but sheer power behind Sten's swings were progressively wearing him down.

"Alistair can have all the _passion_ he wants," I replied quickly, filling the silence Leliana left behind. "But he's not going to win by letting Sten beat him down, hiding behind that shield."  Sten's broadsword clanged off of Alistair's shield in response, landing a blow that sent an echo resounding throughout the camp.

"Then how?" her gaze turned to me, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Speed," I motioned back to Alistair and Sten, directing Leliana's attention to the way Alistair's shield garnered nicks and dents exponentially the longer they sparred.  "If he continues on like this, Sten will tear him down.  Look, there, Alistair's face," I pointed as discreetly as possible as Leliana edged in close to me, "he's waiting for Sten to tire out.  That's fine, but I highly doubt he's ever fought a Qunari before: even with our supposed gray warden stamina, he needs to be more on the quick offensive."

Leliana considered my explanation carefully, or at least her facial expressions implied as much.  While I'd began forging a friendship with her that made me feel as though we might discuss any number of personal things, she still managed, at times, to give off this unsettling vagueness that had me guessing at her:  was she hiding something?  While she seemed so easily able to read me and my thoughts, she was one of the few people I had trouble reading, myself.

As the silence grew between us, a glint of light reflecting of the edge of Alistair's blade caught my eye, drawing my attention to him.  Though I looked for no more than a second, knowing that there was no point in gawking, as mother would've put it, the sight of him was inspiring.  Leliana was right, he did fight with a certain ferocity, a disciplined passion, and it shone through his toned features spectacularly. He was much more graceful that a shield warrior ought to be. 

"You like him," she nudged me in the ribs with her elbow, her voice no more than a whisper.

"I most certainly _do not_ ," I scoffed immediately, too loudly, as though her words left a poor taste in my mouth.  In truth, it wasn't a flat out lie, but more of a reassurance to myself, a promise not to dig any farther into silly feelings I'd dismissed and put away out of necessity.  To save Thedas from the Blight, I'd need a clear head.  After all, that was what saved me from Arl Howe, hadn't it?

"If you say so," Leliana sighed breathily, both of our eyes now fixed on him.  "But he is quite attractive, no?  Those chiseled pectorals, those warm eyes," she continued to list his more handsome features at length until I rolled my eyes.  "A vision such as that? Paradise."

"I try not to think of him like that," I admitted shaking my head lightly. 

"A fine choice of words," a wicked smile spread like wildfire across her cheeks as a hot rouge clung to my own.  

In that moment, with the apples of my cheeks aflame and my mouth slightly agape, Alistair noticed us watching.  His face lit up, and forgetting where he was, he moved his shield as if to wave subtly in our direction.  That was all it took for Sten to catch him off guard, sending him to the ground with an emphatic thud.  As Sten walked away, mumbling something unsurprised about Alistair's "inferiority" as a warrior, Alistair picked himself up off the ground, brushed himself off, and walked over to us, his cheeks the same color of scarlet as my own.

As Alistair approached us, he cleared his throat quickly, and a boyish grin overtook him. "Your turn, little bird," he said, motioning to me, raking a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.  His breathing was heavy and fast but calmed in haste the longer he stood waiting for a response.  

"Do you mean me?" I inquired, pointing to myself, my finger pressed to my chest in slight annoyance.  I hated when he called me little bird: it made me feel so diminutive, so fragile.  I knew that I was neither of those things.

"Who else?" he returned, the light from his smiled catching in his eyes.

"I'm not sure that's a wise decision, considering _that_ performance," I smirked back, my glance returning to the spot where Alistair and Sten had just sparred.  

"Is it my manly prowess that frightens you, or the fact that if your knife slips, you may cut me and no longer find me handsome?" he glanced at me, jesting.  Leliana stepped back for a moment, her eyes slightly wider than usual, flitting back and forth with our banter.

"The loss of such a paragon would be acute," Leliana nodded in agreement, and Alistair practically beamed at me.

" _Fine_ ," the stressed word left my lips hurriedly, all humor fleeing with it.  I marched quickly over to my tent, reaching past a yawning Beau, his limbs akimbo in the first stretch of the morning, for my sword and dagger.  On my return, I blew past Alistair to the spot that we'd seemingly reserved for sparring.  

"Well?" I asked, glaring at him as I waited for him to approach.  He stepped over to me cautiously, eyeing me up and down, trying to get a good read on me.  While his gestures read caution as he raised his sword and shield, his face very clearly projected thinly veiled amusement.  

We circled each other for a moment as I gauged his movements.  He was calmer, more still than he'd been while sparring against Sten, which I attributed to his templar training. _But why use that against me and not Sten?_ I thought passively as he began to advance.

He advanced first, using two quick steps followed by another, slower step.  I struck out with my sword, and he readily blocked.  He advanced again, this time moving a little quicker, while I side-stepped him, easily dodging him and leaving an empty space where his own sword reached out.  A few more times he advanced, two quick steps forward followed by one more calculated step: his footwork was beginning to betray him.  Alistair was a more gifted strategist than I'd given him credit for: while he was allowing Sten to get a workout during their sparring match, he was trying to play mind games with me.

"I know what you're doing," I groaned bluntly, my jaw clenching as I smoothly out-maneuvered another of his forthcoming blows. 

"And what might that--" as he fumbled slightly forward, his sword cutting through the air, I dipped down and swept his legs out from under him, watching him fall to the ground a second time. As he fell onto his face, the dust sprang up into the air in thick clouds.  He began to cough lightly as I reached down to help him up, my face blank, devoid of expression. 

"You're playing with me," I nodded curtly, and when he tried to cut me off, argue with me, I raised my hand still clenching the dagger with all but one, firmly standing index finger.  "No, no," I waved my finger at him as he brushed himself off, "You know I'm right."

"Care to elaborate?" he asked, knowingly jetting up an eyebrow.

"Your advances are aggressive, but not aggressive enough to catch me," I started, imitating his footing. "Two quick steps forward: there's the urgency.  You're flaunting your experience, the power sure follow the advance, but then comes that one slower step," I moved forward, supporting my convictions with mirrored motions.  "The slower step allows me time to strike, sure, but it gives you as much time to block.  If you were really serious, you'd out maneuver me, keeping up the pace, but instead you move just fast enough to evade, though too slow to actually let me do any damage."

To this, he had no response.  The air around us settled, the dust gently fell back to the ground, nestling into the divets made by our feet.  He casually wiped a bit of dirt off of his right pauldron, glancing down at it before returning his eyes to me.  While his face read nothing more than a detached aloofness, his eyes sparkled intensely.

"So, are you going to fight me truly this time or are you not?" I inquired, shaking my head.  "Because if not--"

Suddenly, he charged me with a fervency I had yet to see from him, even in battle, and he carried his shield off to the side, instead of flat out in front of him: there was nothing defensive about him now.  For as strong as I knew him to be, he was also much faster than he'd let on, nearly taking me to the ground with a downward swing that I'd only barely managed to catch between my own sword and dagger. 

As he pressed down with all of his strength, my arms quivered under the pressure.  While I tried my best to concentrate and look for an opportunity, his heated gaze caught my own. "Don't hold back," he whispered, his voice straining.  

"I won't," I managed from behind my crossed blades.  With an extra burst of energy, I managed to throw him back a little, using my blades for leverage.  As he floundered backward slightly, I took a chance, rushing him, but to no avail: he brought his shield around in full swing, catching me right in the sword hand at the perfect moment, sending my blade flying several paces off.  

His shield collided into my hand with a loud crack, and the sound of bones against metal wasn't nearly as startling as the pain that followed his blow.  The amount of adrenaline pumping through me was enough to help keep me focused, and as Alistair's face contorted in concern, I took the opportunity to get flashy, pushing myself into a back walkover.  As my body glided backwards toward the ground the foot I used to push off connected squarely with Alistair's chin, and pain ripped through the single, injured hand I used to steady myself and hold my weight.  

As I created distance, reaching down to pick up my sword, Alistair stumbled backwards again and looked at me incredulously, his hand rubbing his chin frantically.  His lips pursed in anger and his brow knit in determination as he advanced again.  I had only mere seconds to reconcile the fact that my sword hand could barely hold its charge, let alone fend off a swing like the one he'd administered just minutes earlier.  To my surprise, he threw his shield to the ground in the seconds before he swung out at me, and as I dodged him to the left, he used his free hand to catch me: before I knew it, my back was pressed to his chest and his blade was at my throat, just a bit too realistically.

"Do you yield?" he panted, his arms crushing me against him.  

I dropped my knives, and managed to wiggle my arms free: a likely gift from an assumed victor.  For a split second I'd considered giving in, but he'd _hurt me_.  Even if it was on accident, and even if I'd already gotten some revenge during our match, there was no way I could let him win: he'd be too smug to live with.  Immediately I stomped down on his right foot, crushing my heel into it with enough force to send him a bit off balance, and reached up, grabbing his left arm near the shoulder, planting my own in his armpit as I lowered my center of balance just below his. When I quickly straightened my legs, I raised him off the ground behind me out of sheer force of will, and I pulled his arm over my shoulder like a towel, sending him flying in front of me.

"Never," I gasped in response, my hand starting to throb as the searing pain truly set in. For a minute, he lied there, just groaning, as I stared at my hand, now supremely swollen and the color of wine.  When I touched it lightly, I opened my mouth as if to cry out, my eyes clenched shut in pain, but no sound emitted from my lips.  

"Alright, you two," Leliana called out from across camp as she began shoveling food into small wooden bowls. "Knock it off and come eat."

After securing my sword and dagger, I bent down to offer Alistiar my good hand, but he ignored me, picking himself up off the ground.  I stood there for a moment, my arm frozen in place, reaching toward the now empty spot on the ground as Alistair walked away.

"You don't have to be sore," I said, attempting to catching up with him.  "You did say not to hold back."

His eyes turned to me viciously, a shade of rage to them that I hadn't seen even in his fights with Morrigan. "Yes, well, I didn't expect you to kick me in the face and throw me like a rag doll, now did I?"

"I suppose not," I frowned as my voice wilted into smallness.

"I don't know what they do in Highever," he spat forcefully as he turned to walk away, "but I was taught not to bludgeon my opponent during training."

" _Excuse me_ ," my tone soared into savage boldness as I grabbed his shoulder with my left hand, spinning him around to face me, "but you didn't have to shatter my hand with your shield _after_ you tried to show off, parading me around the sparring ring like some trained animal for your entertainment.  Alistair, I am _not_ a stupid little girl."

" _No?_ " he asked facetiously, his face reflecting the fury within. "Well, you sure  are acting like one."  

I gasped, wide-eyed and in shock as he walked away. Everyone was now seated around the campfire, their gazes lowered to their porridge. While Morrigan's giggles could be heard throughout our match every time Alistair hit the ground, she was careful now not to make eye contact as he stormed past.  Sten watched us cooly from behind his breakfast, as Leliana averted her eyes, focusing most intently on stirring the cauldron before her.  As Alistair lumbered past the campfire, Beau, who had emerged from my tent, looked up to Alistair with a whimper and followed behind at a short distance without even so much as looking back at me for my approval.

As everyone tried their best to actively ignore what they'd just witnessed, with the exception of Sten, all feelings of hunger or pain left my system, replaced with a fiery rage.  My lower lip shook as I fought back the feelings that had, perhaps, gotten the best of me, and the fresh anger that had risen out of being scolded like a petulant babe.  It was as if I really had found myself in Highever all over again as a child.

I followed Alistair's lead and marched back to my own tent, closing myself inside.  As I rubbed my incredibly sore right hand, I tried as best I could to pack up my things, knowing that we'd be leaving for Redcliffe soon.  As the others finished eating, Alistair and Beau eventually joining them, I sat on the edge of camp, alone and waiting.

After we started to make our way to Redcliffe, the tension began to fade slowly from the early morning into the afternoon.  I walked much of the day behind the others, speaking to no one, as I listened to Leliana make small talk with Alistair.  As the sun rose to its pinnacle and began to fall again slightly, Morrigan took her place beside me and would lightly gag or glare whenever Alistair would respond with anything marginally cute.  In that moment, I loved Morrigan more than I could ever express.

"Your hand," she said with a troubled look, peeking down at it, "it needs proper attention.  It must be excruciating, is it not?"  Her voice was just a bit too loud, in her typical fashion, and it called nearly everyone's attention. 

"It's nothing," I grimaced at the sight of it.  It hurt, certainly, but the swollen, purple flesh was just grotesque, almost fake.

"Tis nothing, she says," Morrigan glowered pointedly in Alistair's direction.  "That hulking buffoon nearly obliterates her hand to the point of resembling a colossal grape--"

"Morrigan," I began warily. "Would you mind taking a look at it if we can afford to stop for a moment?"

She nodded quietly, reaching for my wrist.  When she raised my hand closer to her face, she sent me a warning glance before her fingers set to searching the extremely tender flesh for signs of breaks.  As her fingers probed my engorged palm, I cried out with each display of pressure.  I set my eyes to Redcliffe castle, which was not far off now, and tried to phase out the pain.  _It'll only be a few hours until we're there_ , I thought between gripping flashes of agony shooting through my fingers.

"What's the prognosis?" Alistair asked faintly as he approached us seemingly from nowhere, his eyes glued to the ground.

"Well, well, the bumbling oaf returns to examine his handiwork, no doubt," Morrigan alleged with smooth sarcasm. When Alistair's expression proved that he was clearly not impressed, she submitted to his request frankly. "Tis not truly broken, but it seems as though it might be fractured.  At best, there's torn flesh or contusions: I'm no healer, and this is outside my expertise. Though a cold compress should help take down the swelling." Alistair glanced from Morrigan to myself, reaching into his pack for a long bandage.  

"Thank you, Morrigan, but I'd like to talk to James alone, please," his voice took a tone of commanding, and after a moment of hesitance, she left us to ourselves, muttering curses under her breath.  After she was out of earshot, he reached for my hand in much the same manner, but began to wrap it tightly in the bandage.  "Cold, I can't' do much about, but we can compress it," his eyes searched my face as he sighed, though I gave him no sign of life, and after a small pause, he started again. "I have something I need to say to you.  A few things, actually."

"I'm listening," I muttered between hisses of pain, turning my glance from the nearby castle to look at him.  As he wound the bandage around my hand, it felt good, terribly painful, and simultaneously fluttered, my heartbeat resonated intensely in my palm.  

"First, I'm sorry, for everything, for _this_ ," he said, gesturing to my hand with a nod, "and for what I'm about to tell you.  I should've told you sooner."

I braced myself silently for the news, though nothing could have prepared me for what he was about to say.  Secretly, I'd had my suspicions, but in that moment it took me very much by surprise.

"Do you remember when we talked to Flemeth about coming to Redcliffe, why I thought we had a chance getting an audience with Arl Eamon?"

"You said he raised you," I answered carefully.  I swallowed hard, assuming that some information was about to come that may complicate our meeting with the Arl.

"Well, he raised me because…" his voice trailed off as anxiety crept over his face, setting his hands to shaking as he tied the bandage in place.  "I don't even know how to tell you this."

"Just say it," I suggested, my voice urging him on with slight impatience.

After a moment, he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes before letting it go in a flurry of words strung together quickly like lightning strikes. "Eamon raised me because I'm King Maric's son.  There you have it," he said, a small wave of relief washing over him, "I'm a bastard, and before you get any ideas, I mean the fatherless kind."

"You're _what?_ " my voice was very low and rumbling as I snatched my hand back from his grasp.  "You are Maric's _son_ , sole heir to the throne, and you _just now_ find it pertinent to tell me?!"  

For as mad as I'd been at Alistair earlier, a blinding resentment had swept over me. While Alistair had not meant to hurt me when we sparred, he'd now intentionally put every single one of us in great danger.  It was no small wonder that Loghain was trying to chase us down: Alistair was the single threat that might oppose, or even overthrow, him.

"I meant to--I wanted to," he stammered in defense, beads of sweat gathering at his brow. "but I couldn't find the words.  I didn't want you to see me as the King's bastard: I just wanted to be nobody for once.  Just Alistair.  I was afraid--"

"I told you _everything_ ," my eyes flashed like lightning in a snowstorm when they met his, clouded with fury. "I told you all about Howe's betrayal and how that could eventually come back at us.  Is this how you repay _my_ honesty? You would put us all in the line of fire because of your own feelings?!"

I glanced around at our companions, taking in their faces for a beat, as I stood before Alistair, shaking violently with anger.  I realized my voice had been raised to the point of shouting, and Alistair stood there, stunned, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.  Panic took over his features, his eyes bolting from one companion to the next as he began to wring his hands together.  He closed his mouth and tried to swallow, though his mouth had seemingly gone dry.

"I'm sorry," his terrified eyes met mine apprehensively.  "I don't know what I was thinking…" As his voice trailed off, his eyes amber eyes became distant, clouded like my own but differently.  The usual exuberance, vivacity, that he carried so well had dwindled down to a flicker.  It really had been hard on him to share his secret: the sheer look of destitution about him stood as hard evidence of it.

I sighed heavily, and my body slumped down a bit in kind.  "Alistair, I--"

"Have you come to help us?" a voice sounded frantically from across a nearby bridge. "We sent for help days ago, and the village can't hold out much longer."

A look of surprise and fear flashed across Alistair's face as he turned quickly to face the stranger approaching us. "What do you mean, the village won't hold out much longer?" Alistair's voice rang out with the panic he'd been channeling just moments earlier.

Instead of explaining, the young man led us down the winding hillside paths into Redcliffe village, bodies of slain men, torn apart, piled up on either of the passage, lining the road.  The village seemed scarce, with only a few people to be seen outside.  Something in my gut tensed up, shaking me from the inside: something wasn't right here, not at all.  As we made our way down to the Chantry, Alistair tried asking the lad about Arl Eamon, but only got a confused glance in return.

The young man led us inside, pushing open the chantry doors with exhausted arms.  As we shuffled inside, the amount of women and children sobbing into family heirlooms and each other's arms was truly somber.  The amount of grief and heartsickness pervading the chantry's stone walls was enough to bring anyone to tears, and the looks on their faces said all I needed to know.  

"What happened here?" I asked curiously, my brow furrowed in thought.  

As the lad opened his mouth to speak, we were intercepted by a taller, well-kept man that I recognized almost instantly.  "Lady Cousland? Is that you?" his head cocked to the side in bewilderment. "The last we'd heard of your family, you were all dead."

"All but me," I smiled gently, "though it seems Redcliffe isn't much better off.  What's happening here, Bann Teagan?"

"My lady, I mean to say that the state of Redcliffe is quite dire," he explained all about the undead rising from the shores of lake Calenhad as a result of some occult chaos inside the castle. "But surely you're not here to visit or seek refuge?  We're a bit short on space at the moment."

"Not at all," I assured him, waving my left hand slightly at chest level.  "We were hoping to get an audience with the arl concerning the Blight."

"We?" he asked, eyeing me curiously.

"I remember you, Bann Teagan," Alistair moved forward timidly. "Though the last time we met, I was a lot younger and covered in mud."  

"Covered in mud?" Teagan asked, making the connection easily. "Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!" The pair spent a moment catching up, discussing Cailan's death, a burden they both carried, and Loghain's betrayal.  "You're also a gray warden?" Teagan turned his eyes back to me.

"I am--" I attempted to give more of an answer, though Teagan refused to let me finish.

"Then let me beg you both, and the rest of your companions, for your help against the undoubted wave of rotting corpses that will surely descend upon us tonight: we fear that this will be the worst yet.  Anything you can do to rally the remaining soldiers or contribute to combat would be appreciated more than you know.  We may not survive without you."

After some grumbling from Morrigan and Sten, I readily agreed to help Teagan.  Alistair shot me a grateful glance, though I wasn't ready to forgive him just yet.  As everyone sat down to get a moment's rest before tending to the long laundry list of tasks Teagan offloaded onto us, Teagan extended his arm to me.  

"My lady, if you would," he nodded down to his out-stretched arm.  As I moved to take his arm,  he noticed my hand and gasped abruptly.  "Maker, the size of your hand.  Are you quite all right?"

"Sparring accident," I forced a look of coy intrigue across my face, catching a glimpse of Alistair out of the corner of my eye.  He was watching our every move. "I'm sure I'll recover quickly."

"Ever the warrior," Teagan smiled for a moment until his lips pulled down into a slight frown. "But I am sorry about your family, for whatever that's worth.  I'm sure it's of no comfort to you."

"Thank you, my lord," I began. "It has been difficult, but I am trying my best for them.  I hope I'm able to continue their legacy in some small way, to make them proud." I paused for a moment, realizing that Teagan was watching me as intently as Alistair, both making me feel awkward, yet slightly brave.  _What if…_ I thought to myself before my mouth followed suit. "What about you, Bann Teagan?  Do you have any family to speak of?"

"Are you…" his voice trailed off for a second as his smiled returned. "Do you mean to ask me if I'm married?"

"Indeed, I am," I returned his grin as Alistair's face grew sour in the background.  

"I, no, I've not had the pleasure," his eyes met mine in a languished glance. "Though, if I may be so bold, I'd be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself."

My cheeks grew pink in reaction to the pleasantries Teagan offered me.  It was no secret that I had been one of the most eligible women in Ferelden, second only to royalty, and this was not the first time I'd received such compliments from him: as soon as I was of an acceptable age to marry, he and many others like him sought to occupy a bit of my time in hopes of marriage.  Though the match was deemed politically imprudent, as Teagan's status was not as good as I might have done, I'd found him one of least offensive choices:  he was quite a bit older than myself, but not so old that I felt it awkward, and his sweetness was genuine.  

"And if I may be bolder yet, my lady, what of you? Have you changed your mind about marriage?" his eyes searched mine playfully.  

"Alas, Bann Teagan," I sighed softly, keeping his gaze. "The only love I harbor is one for adventure.  Though, any woman should be glad to call you husband, I should think."

"Any woman but you," he continued almost blithely as I continued smiling, tittering delicately.  

"If you'll excuse me, Bann Teagan," I nodded to the chantry door. "We're losing daylight, and it seems we have a town to save."

As Teagan released me back into the rabble of survivors and their belongings littering the perimeter of the chantry, Beau approached me for the first time that day, nuzzling his head against my shins.  When I bent down to scratch his chin, I noticed that Alistair's eyes were still stuck on me, his face projecting a bit of worry, a little dread, and a lot of frustration.  

 _Is that--could that be…_ I wondered to myself as I carefully turned my eyes as naturally as possible back to Beau.  _  
_

As I continued to give Beau affection, the more I kept my eyes away from him the more the tension around me seemed to stiffen the air. As I stood back up to approach the others, ready to set out on the daunting quest of repelling the undead, I realized that Alistair had finally looked away, his fingers tracing over something lodged deep inside his pack.  As I waltzed past, I couldn't help wonder what it was: another of his secrets not meant to be shared.  

When I reached Leliana, Sten, Morrigan, and Alistair, I delegated tasks, receiving only nods from everyone but Leliana and an excited bark from Beau.  Deep inside, disquiet began to pool in the pit of my stomach as the image of fighting off flesh-hungry corpses finally set in.  I glanced to the chantry door and for the first time, cowered slightly in fear.

 


	17. In Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dealing with the undead in Redcliffe, James and Alistair begin to reconcile their differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's a nice, fluffy chapter for you. Thank you guys, also, for the extremely lovely comments and kudos that keep coming in: you're keeping me extremely motivated to work on this fic. Enjoy!
> 
> And yes, they have keychains in Thedas, but only the very touristy kind. : ]

They held forth the banners  
That flew on their own.  
\- Threnodies 5:3

I knew we had a decision to make, and one that needed made quickly.  After battling the undead from the village hilltop, down to the pebbled shores of Lake Calenhad, and all through the castle, we'd found that the shambling corpses were the least of our problems.  Connor, the arl's son, had become an abomination, the result of another secret kept from the world.  Jowan, an apostate caught up in Teryn Loghain's scheme to take over Ferelden, had only managed to make matters worse by poisoning the arl at the teryn's request:  at the very least, the arl was clinging to life from the bottom of a dreamless sleep, and Bann Teagan had gained control of his senses after being under Connor's thrall. Watching Teagan's body twist and writhe, submitting mercilessly to Connor's will was bad enough, but knowing that a child possessed that kind of power was terrifying.

He was possessed by a demon, and something had to be done about it.  

After sorting through the arlessa's distraught logic and Teagan's sensibilities, we talked it out as a group.  For a moment, Jowan's offer of blood magic was tempting to say the least: by taking the arlessa's life, lifeblood from a willing participant even, Jowan could enter the fade and take out the demon.  I wasn't about to kill a child, even if he was possessed: the devastation wrought on the town wasn't a conscious decision, and his original intent to save his father had come from the heart.  But blood magic didn't sit right with me.  Two wrongs had never, ever made a right.

When I'd suggested the Circle of Magi, I knew it'd be the best solution for everyone: we'd hopefully be able to save Connor without the use of blood magic, and we could make good on our first treaty with the mages.  The problem therein being that we'd have to split up.  No one could be certain that Connor wouldn't try to create another army of undead.

I decided that Alistair, Beau, and me would have to go to the Circle ourselves, alone.  Teagan needed as many able-bodied fighters as he could find, and it'd made more sense for Alistair to help me fulfill the treaty; after all, there was no warrior who'd proved their skill in battle lately more than Alistair, and I had faith that if one of us managed to get ourselves killed, the other would refrain from doing something stupid.  Hopefully.

What I hadn't considered is how much time it would take to get to there.  While Teagan said it'd be a day by boat, no one in the village dared go near the lake after the swarms of undead had dredged themselves up from the lake's floor for the past several consecutive nights.  The stark reality of the situation proved that we'd have to go by foot, the entire way around the lake: a week's journey one way.  

"If we're not back in a fortnight and a half, do what you have to do," I said, my voice like tempered steel, as I looked Morrigan dead in the eyes.  "I'm leaving you in charge.  I know I can trust you to do what I can't should we not return." She nodded grimly as Alistair's mouth fell open: another argument I was sure we'd have later.  

We left immediately, having already spent too long in Redcliffe, and we traveled well into the evening hours, exhausted and sluggish as cold molasses.  We'd been awake and fighting for nearly a day and a half straight, and I could barely keep my eyes open as we trudged through the foothills as the base of the Frostback mountains.

In my tired delirium, my mind turned to Alistair's words before the first wave of undead descended from the castle gates.  I hadn't thought much of it then, but now, the tone in his voice, the look on his face, they were beginning to toy with me against my will.  An exaggeration of a tired mind, no doubt.  

_"I'm worried about you," Alistair  looked toward me over his left shoulder.  His voice was soft like dandelion down floating on the wind after a storm, his tone a turbulent squall tamed to a cool breeze.  "You can't fight, not like that."_

_"I'll be fine," I responded in turn, my eyes fixed on the mountain path.  "It's only my hand, not a festering wound."_

_"Please," his face fell, slightly distressed, "don't do this.  You should go to the chantry, protect Teagan if it comes to that."_

_"And miss out on all the fun?" I grinned in rebellion. "You must be daft."_

_Alistair sighed heavily, weariness written in the lines in his face.  After shaking his head, he closed his eyes and raised a hand to his forehead, his thumb and forefinger pressed lightly against his temples in frustration.  When he looked back over to me this time, his eyes were imploring in anxiety, speaking the words his lips would not._

_But I was not done being angry, not yet._

_"Say that you'll be careful, at least," he tried to meet my gaze but couldn't move mine from the path that lied ahead, his voice faltering just enough to be noticable. "Tell me that you won't take any stupid risks."_

_"I'd have to say a firm no," I turned to him with a tiny smile as the undead swarmed down the mountainside to the barricades just before us, "to both."_

To make matters worse, I'd seen his face when the arlessa appeared after the fight in the village, his demeanor just deflating at the sight of her.  The way she talked to him, glaring at him like some kind of careless thief, filled me with disgust.  Her tone beat him down like a small child who'd eaten one too many cakes, and something told me Alistair had no clue what he'd done to begin with.  This was just residual irrational anger, and he was the right whipping boy in the right place and the right moment.

Even now, as we trekked along the lake, the water's surface glittering like diamonds on black velvet, he looked simply dejected like a hopeful orphan who'd been passed by one too many times.  I couldn't help but feel for him, and if that complicated things, so be it.  It's not like he had to know.

When he offered to make camp, I sighed happily in relief, dropping my pack right on the spot.  We built a fire, making good use of my flint, and set up our tents.  In no time, we had a little dinner going with the supplies we could manage to carry, and Beau happily snored as his head rested, all dead weight, on top of my lap.  As I absent-mindedly stroked his ears, the lush, short fur of his ears a familiar comfort passing between my fingers, I took the opportunity to break our prolonged silence.

"You look like him, you know," I raised my chin up, as if to look thoughtful.  

"Him who?" Alistair asked, glancing up from the little bit of wood he was carefully whittling.

"Maric," I suggested with a certain smoothness.  "I'd only truly met him once, but you have his eyes.  I think I knew the moment I saw you: after talking to Cailan just moments before we met, it wasn't like I needed much help."

His mouth formed a perfect little circle as his eyes plummeted back down to the piece of wood in his hands. "I didn't know," he said, his voice small.  "No one ever talked about it, and it was clear that I shouldn't ask. Kingly stuff, _very_ off limits."  

"He was quite lovely," I posed, now leaning toward him, my body compelled toward him in concern.  "Very kind, prudent, and strikingly handsome as far as my childhood self could tell."

"Like father like son," he tried to manage his usual goofy charm, though it fell quite flat.  He couldn't even force his lips to inch into a smile, and his eyes were dull, pointedly claimed by weariness.  As he, once again, returned to his whittling, his eyes focused on the intricate task before him, he paused before speaking again.  "You're still mad," he said, though it was more of a question, his eyes still locked on his hands.

"No," I shook my head shyly, embarrassed of my actions and full of regret. "Not anymore."

Another small pause passed between us, the lake lapping up the pebbled shore in its constant rhythm, smoldering embers hissing and popping in the dying fire were the only thing keeping us from total silence.  I titled my head to get a better look at his face, his features still and calm, unimpressed.  My guilt began to eat away at me, widening the remorseful, contrite hole inside me that longed to be filled.

"I'm _so_ sorry," I moved toward him, pushing myself next to him as Beau's head fell from my lap with a startled snort.  "Please forgive me.  Please." I reached out and took his left arm in both hands.  As I gripped his arm in urgency, pain shred through my right hand, though I refused to let go.  "I just want things to be right between us.  No more anger, no more silence."

"Be careful," a smile finally began to tug at the corners of his mouth. "Don't you know how delicate I am? I bruise easily." 

"I promise to keep my ever errant feelings in check from now on," I said, lowering my head closer to his, my eyes heartily seeking out his own.  My lips pursed together, this time in a blithe joyfulness: seeing that smile was a sincere comfort.

"And?" he asked as he lost a battle with himself, trying to conceal his tiny smile growing into a grin, his voice drawing out the vowel.

"Don't press your luck," I laughed, hitting his arm lightly.

He looked up out of his periphery, perhaps catching the seriousness in my eyes, and decided to respond in kind. "Of course I forgive you," he uttered the words in a lowness, just above a whisper.

With a happy sigh, I laid back into the stoney shore and looked up at the sky.  It was clear and slightly cool, and incandescent stars were strewn throughout the sky, blinking innocently back down at me.  A wave of relief washed over me as little wood shavings began to fall carelessly about the shore.

"It's funny," he said clearing his throat, "Teagan would pick you out of a crowd straight away before he even remembered me," his glance casually fell down to me, and I caught it with my own.  "What was that with you two, anyway?"

"Diplomacy," I offered, blinking hard.  "He only remembered me because he wanted to marry me.  Unless you forgot, I am quite the catch."

"Still wants," Alistair articulated pointedly.  "You were there to witness that, weren't you?"

"Were you not impressed?" I inquired with a sense of daring, propping myself up on an elbow to get a better look at him. "Some might find him quite sweet."

"It's not how I'd have done," he said almost emphatically, his eyes concentrating on his carving.

"And _how_ would you have done it?" I dared him to answer the question, my heart slamming against my eardrums.

"I don't--Do you normally?  Go for that, I mean.  From Banns?" his hands stopped still, the little piece of wood lay motionless in between clenched fingers.  As his speech stumbled, he started to fidget, and I could have sworn that he was starting to get worked up.

"No," I smiled, laying back down again, turning my eyes upward. "Not at all. I've been flattered by banns and arls and princes my entire life, and they never mean it, not truly."

"Oh, I think they do," he said with a distinct tone in his voice that I couldn't quite place as his voice grew soft, muttering something that I almost couldn't hear.

_"They'd be stupid not to."_

As Beau snuggled up against me suddenly, scaring me in a similar fashion as I'd done to him minutes before, I jumped in shock, unaware of anything around except those words quietly bouncing around in my ears.  We both laughed as I looked up at him, taking in the way the light front the fire set his amber eyes to a smoky gold.  It was a sight I had to admit to myself that I'd missed, more than I realized.

"Tell me about growing up in Redcliffe," I begged, tugging on his sleeve backed up with a wide-eyed glance.  "I want to hear all about little Alistair."

At first he was reluctant, but after some persistence he eventually gave in, saying there wasn't much to tell.  When he began, his words were carefully chosen and cautiously offered, though the longer he went on, the more melancholy his story grew.  When he talked about sleeping in stables and kennels, I wanted to cry.  It wasn't until he started in on the arlessa, Isolde, that I felt the urge to murder her in cold blood.  She'd had him beaten over and over for no reason, showing cruelty to a little boy who, from my estimation, only wanted a family to call his own.  She'd all but exiled him from the one thing he desperately needed.

"It was…still is clear that she hates me, and I can't say I blame her," his voice was soft, too supple for the subject matter. "She thought I was the arl's bastard, so she did what she thought she had to, though, the beatings were atrocious: she'd have had my bollocks as a keychain if I'd breathed the wrong way around her much more.  So, in a way, being thrown into the Chantry was a blessing, really."

" _I_ blame her," I scoffed bitterly. "What a terrible thing to do to a child."

"I suppose," he agreed, maintaining his easeful lightheartedness. "It's over now, though, and I'm no worse off for it."  After a moment, he looked down at the piece of wood in his hand, carved down to the size of a toothpick.  He clearly had been more involved in talking than carving, and a wee swell of happiness rose inside me.  He shook his head gently, and threw the piece of wood at the tide, falling terribly short.  "What about you?" he asked as I let down my hair, shaking it free from the soft, loose bun on top of my head. Waves of red torrented down to the ground, covering the patch of stones beneath my head like a blanket.  "I can just imagine you, all wooden swords and a gigantic mess of red curls."

"It's like you know me," I beamed, trying my best to conceal it. "I was very much both of those things, chasing after Fergus with such wanton desire to be a knight, though always destined for the life of a caged canary."

"Not anymore," he said, returning my smile.

"No," I agreed happily.  "I guess not."

The stories spilled forth like a broken dam, and in no time I'd told him about "Pup," the little lost puppy of a girl who loved fairytales and historic battles, who was once kidnapped and was caught hiding away in the woods by a teryn and a king.  I told him of father, of Oren and Oriana, of Fergus, and especially mother, who I'd been missing now more than ever.  

It struck me to mention something of Ser Gilmore, but the moment passed quickly.

"I wish I'd have known my mother, at least something of her," he frowned subtly.  "She was a serving girl at the castle, and died giving birth to me. All I ever had of hers was an amulet, but I did something truly stupid out of anger.  It's broken now, and I'll never get it back."

As he told the story about being sent to the Chantry, about the heated fight between Arl Eamon and himself, something deep inside nagged at me.  He described the amulet he'd had, the only possession of his youth he kept and treasured, and how it smashed into pieces after he'd thrown it in a rage, as revenge at Eamon who'd resigned him to the Templars.

It struck me then that I'd found such an amulet in the arl's study, a present I fully intended to give Leliana.  I reached for my pack with a wild fervor, turning it over and digging through its fallen contents with a overwhelming need.  I'd meant it as a souvenir: it looked not unlike the amulets that we acquired for Ser Perth's men, and I thought Leliana would find it particularly funny, since she was the one who convinced Mother Hannah to provide them.  

As I dug it out of the pile of meaningless items, I thrust it into Alistair's hands.  "Look,"I offered daintily, trying to hold back my emotions.  

Alistair gasped, turning it over in his hands as he had the little statuette of the woman I'd given him just nights ago.  For a moment, he held his breath, his eyes glistening brightly in the firelight.  "Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"I found it in the arl's study," I added tenderly.  

"This-- _this_ is my mother's amulet," he said as sheer surprise and happiness flooded his words. He turned it over and showed me the cracks that had been mended, the one thing I'd missed in my hurried attempt to hide it away.  "He fixed it, after I'd been so stupid.  I wonder why he'd go to the trouble."

"Maybe you mean more to Eamon than you realize," I placed my hand on his arm as a sense of fulfillment washed over me.  I'd finally done something right.

"Yeah," he could barely whisper through the awe. "Maybe."

As I pulled myself up, I smiled down at him as he gazed lovingly at the amulet in his hands.  For a second, I could see the little boy in him staring out with that same awe-struck look on his face, perhaps finally having found what he was looking for all this time.  In a word, it was wonderful.

"Wait," he bolted to his feet almost too suddenly, nearly falling over as he rose. He reached one hand out to my shoulder and stared me straight in the eyes, getting me lost in those glowing, golden eyes amid the starlight as I smiled lazily.  "Thank you.  No, really, thank you.  No one's ever done something so nice for me before, and I--"

"It was a happy accident," I nodded, looking down, not allowing myself to get too carried away.  After all, it's not like I had any reason to.  He quieted me and proceeded again.

"And I want to tell you now, while the moment is still good that…" his voice tapered off for a second, and my mind raced with the possibilities. "That out of all the wardens that survived to fight this Blight alone with me, I'm glad it was you."

My heart skipped a beat, and I was certain for how firm his grasp was on my shoulder that he could feel the beating of my heart like a blacksmith's hammer against an anvil.  Inside, I begged myself not to panic, as I raised my eyes to his and offered him three simple words.

"Yes, me too."


	18. What Would You Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As James and Alistair reach the Circle tower, they find the brightest of moments in the least expected places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, a moment you've been waiting for! I hope I've done it justice. I've written and rewritten this about fifteen times over, and I think I'm finally happy with it. I hope you are, too! Excuse me as I set the fluff meter to "awkward firsts." : ]

And together they searched ever deeper  
Until they found their prize  
\- Threnodies 8:27

Over the next several days, I'd secretly spent much of my time reflecting on my little bit of good fortune.  After fending off a slew of undead, I was beyond appreciative of the fact that I'd made the choice to bring Alistair with me to the Circle of Magi: while the choice seemed the most pragmatic at the time, I was beginning to see that perhaps my decision had been more selfish than I thought.

"Hello?" Alistair asked out of nowhere as we trekked into midday, his curiosity sending my pulse soaring to my throat where it thumped away like a horse's hooves slamming against a cobblestone road.  The weather had been progressively getting warmer over the past few weeks, edging ever closer to summer, and as we walked under the shade of some tall pines just off the lake's shore, my mind had gone off on an adventure of its own.  "Anybody home?"

"Wha--what?" I exhaled sharply, stammering in response as I shook myself out of a daydream.  My head spun around with the energy of a child's toy, just released from the adept fingers of its master, his voice catching me off guard.

"You were off somewhere for a moment there," his eyebrows raised slightly in affirmation.  "I'm afraid I'd been talking to myself for awhile after you… _quit listening_."  His tone stressed the last two words: not out of anger or annoyance but more in probing amusement.  "A copper for your thoughts?"

"Oh, it's nothing," I half-lied through my teeth before pressing my lips together in an awkward smile, the best I could do on such short notice.  "I've just got a lot on my mind, that's all."

"You don't say," he rebuked me playfully. "And what, pray tell, could distract you from such idle gossip, I wonder?"  On our journey we'd taken to discussing everything, developing a culture of honesty between us two: we'd been mulling over our feelings about the traveling companions awaiting our return in Redcliffe before another thought blew through my mind like the sweetest breeze in spring.  

"Wouldn't you like to know?" my smile spiked into one more spirited, matching his own mischief as Beau barked excitedly from my side. His response was equally coy as his eyes widened a bit in eagerness and half a smile snuck up to his left cheek, his lips pursing to that same side.

"Have it your way," he said, shaking off the tension-laden topic with a tiny shrug, before returning to our discussion Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten.  While his words were dismissive, the tone that carried them felt as sultry as it was wistful to my now attentive ears, trapping me like an unsuspecting fly in a spider's web at midnight.

As he offered his thoughts, I exchanged them for my own, finding that we agreed on nearly everything about our new friends with the exception of Morrigan.  While we spoke, though, that nagging distraction tugged at my attention, the image returning happily to my furtive imagination.  As sunlight shone down in beams between looming branches, painting the ground in strands of light, my mind traveled back in time to just days prior when Alistair had sparred with Sten; at that time, I'd retained amazing composure, though Leliana noticed the attraction.  For as obvious as it was to _her_ , I might as well have full-on drooled with my gaping jaw glued to the ground.  

My vision had touched every angle of his body that day, exploring him up one side and down the other as hungry fingers would do. The way his muscles rippled as he moved was mesmerizing, and my mind recalled it over and over, the rivulets of sweat trickling seductively down his chest, almost purposely so, into the lines of hard muscle that disappeared into his breeches. I noticed the broadness of his hands, their inherent power, and I wondered idly at how much of my body might fit inside those rough palms, what inexplicable joys the calloused pads of his fingers would create cascading down my sides, over my hips.  The most entrancing bit, however, was those leather breeches I'd come to know and love so well, almost too tight in motion, framing that royal backside like a fairy tale ending.  

"Well, aside from the fact that she's a complete and utter _bitch_ \--"

"Oh, Maker," I cursed breathily as my head rolled back slightly, my shoulders sinking a little, and my eyes clouding over in newfound fascination.

"You're not even paying attention, are you?" he smirked, shaking his head at me before I let him get a few paces ahead of me until I was certain he couldn't hear my heart pounding away in my chest.  "What a pity because--"

As he turned around to continue his playful scolding, my foot caught a rogue tree branch reaching up from the earth, its sole intent to color me a fool, to send me crashing to the ground with a thud in order to punish me for allowing my mind to dwell outside the reality of the present moment.  As the image of Alistair's magnificently bare chest fled from my mind, it was replaced with a wild blankness, the sensation of vertigo paired with the humiliation of falling flat on my face.

A head-on collision with the ground never came, much to my surprise: a promised introduction with the dirt traded itself for the resounding clang of metal on metal, my hands barely outstretched before me stupidly as though they'd be able to catch me. When I opened my eyes, blinking hard in quick succession, I realized Alistair had managed to save me from my own silliness, his arms wrapped tightly around me.  

I had managed to fall perfectly into his arms, my hands resting lightly at his collarbone as my finger curled over the top of his breastplate. As I tried to slow my breathing, my chest and heart heaving toward recovery, I looked up into his eyes, a warm, liquid amber seemingly ready to consume me whole. My lips parted gently, my body relaxing from tense surprise into the tight hold he had over me, and his eyes widened as he gazed down at me, his face stunned and vacant from shock. Beau looked from one of us to the next, loosing a single, happy yelp as if to command something.

"Are you all right?" he asked huskily before clearing his throat, his arms still entwined around me. 

"I am now," I cooed, gazing upward from underneath my eyelashes.  I glanced down to his heart, nestled underneath my hands, for a moment and found myself unable to restrain a small sigh that escaped from my lips almost undetected. We lingered there for a few more seconds in silence before he abruptly released me, to the point of almost dropping me, quickly putting a few paces between us. 

"Oh good," he uttered markedly, too pointedly, his posture unbearably straight and rigid.  "I was afraid you'd twisted something."  After a second, he shifted his weight and returned to something resembling normalcy, gesturing forward with one hand slicing through the air as a slight rosy hue inched up his neck.  "Let's continue on then, shall we?"  

I wondered then if the blushing was a result of his Chantry upbringing, the boy in him shown all over his face: I might have been any woman falling all over him to the same result.  Even his method of touch created separation: the embrace itself was intuitive, but the impulse to let go as though I was hot metal searing his hands was confusing, to say the least.  And with every step forward, it seemed we took two more back. After all, he could have done any number of things just there, but he chose to push me away.  

" _My hero_ ," I exclaimed, faking a damsel in distress before I elbowed him gently in the side.  While I chuckled, he only scratched his head, furrowing his brow a bit before we continued on, and for the rest of the day, we walked in what felt like awkward silence, though Alistair seemed very content not to say a word.  

It seemed to me that things with Alistair were changing, becoming something other, but not necessarily more, than friendship, a million and one feelings coursed through me with each of these little awkward situations we'd found ourselves in: I'd become a bundle of white hot tension, a tangled line of knotted nerves begging to be undone, and yet I was unable to reconcile it all with the guilt I harbored for Ser Gilmore, the weight of responsibility I'd felt toward saving Thedas from the Blight, and the uncontrollable giddiness, the overpowering shyness that immediately came over me whenever Alistair was remotely in sight.  I'd had such a hard time choking down the excitement and simultaneous nervousness that gripped me whenever I was around him, that I was beginning to feel the most exquisite misery: he was so close, and there was nothing I could do even if I'd wanted to.

For all of my own conflicting feelings, things complicated themselves as I desperately tried to gauge Alistair's reactions.  With Ser Gilmore, it'd been clear to me, in retrospect, that he was interested: the incessant blushing, the stolen glances, and the flirtatious teasing were all too apparent now.  While Alistair surely offered these things, the unrestrained blushing that raged and crept down even behind his breastplate had become one of his more charming traits, there were other things that made me question, at almost every turn, if he felt the same way.  It perplexed me that Ser Gilmore had taken the first opportunity he was given with an urgent insistence and fiery passion; Alistair, however, had passed up several ready opportunities, almost happily, in order to maintain distance.

Every single fiber of my being cried out to touch and be touched by him, an electric need so strong that it hurt to be so consciously avoided.  I wanted so badly to say those words to him, to tell him how hopeless I felt around him in so many ways, but I didn't have the right words without much encouragement.  It was just better to leave things as they were, taking whatever little moments he thought to share with me: that would have to be enough.

When we finally arrived at the edge of Lake Calenhad closest to the Circle tower, night had more than fallen around us.  The dock was empty, its oarsman long since retired for the evening, and as a result, Alistair and I thought it prudent to make camp.  While he suggested making camp as we usually had, I insisted on staying at the "Spoiled Princess," a local inn and tavern with next to no patrons and plenty of hot water for a proper bath.  While it cost us nearly all the money we'd brought with us, I promised Alistair that we still had some goods to sell, some lightly worn equipment and weapons we'd discovered along the way that didn't fit or had no use, that would make up the difference.  After he reluctantly agreed, we entered the inn and bartered for a room, and while the locals eyed us suspiciously, we paid them no mind.

The first sign of trouble appeared when we could only afford one room with a small bed barely big enough for two, and since I was dedicated to the cause, the promise of a warm meal and hot bath alone solidifying my die hard resolve, there was no way this would stop me.  Alistair sighed heavily, his eyes rolling in slight exasperation as we entered the room; while he must have innately knew it meant he'd have to sleep on the floor, I thought the sight of the large stone tub was breathtaking in its own right. 

Immediately I sent Alistair down to the tavern to fetch food and order hot water for my bath, and I encouraged him to enjoy his wait with a few cups of ale: this was some alone time I needed in the worst kind of way.  The hot water arrived soon enough, and as a chambermaid poured in the water and soap, threaded fingers of steam rose into the air over mountains of foam and bubbles.  She was no more than three steps out of the door before I'd already stripped myself of all my armor and had climbed most eagerly into the tub while Beau curled up in front of the fireplace.  As I settled in, disappearing down into mounds of crystalline bubbles, the dirt, grime, and frustration all but melted away, and the water seemed to seep into my muscles, easing all the soreness of travel away to nothing at all. Even my hand that had began to yellow around blue bruises felt eons better than it had moments before.

"I am _never_ bathing in a freezing cold lake _ever_ again," I exhaled in Beau's direction, a lie I knew I'd never be able to keep.

After I washed to a state of cleanliness even mother would've found satisfactory, I lingered in the tub perhaps longer than I should have, my mind erasing all traces of time and place, and as I emerged the lower quarter of my hair soaked to its ends, covering my breasts and clinging to me at the waist.

As I reached over for a towel hanging just beyond the tub, the door kicked open with a sudden, thundering crack.  As Alistair barged in, his hands full of food and cups of mead, with a proud smile that immediately transformed into shock and regret as Beau began to bark wildly into a low snarl until he realized Alistair was the one at the door. I shrieked like a warring banshee, pulling the towel to me and draping it in front of me to cover as much of my body as I could, and my arms pressed firmly against me, desperately trying to cover my breasts senselessly as though Alistair could see through the thick, fluffy towel.  As tiny rivers of soap and water rain down over my hips and legs, dripping loudly back into the tub, Alistair's eyes moved frantically about the room, looking everywhere but directly at me.  After a few dire moments, he clenched them shut naturally, as though he'd previously forgotten how, as he stood huffing in the doorway. As I peeked over the edge of the towel, half petrified and half thrilled, to see Alistair's reaction, his cheeks turned the brightest scarlet that tinged even the tips of his ears, and right then I couldn't even force myself to be anything much more than mildly embarrassed.  

"Andraste's flaming sword, Alistair," I suggested as calmly as possible while my voice caught raggedly in my throat, "shut the damned door.  Do you want me to freeze to death and let everyone else in Ferelden catch a glimpse of me, too? This isn't a peep show."

"I'm sorry--I didn't--I should've," each word bled into the next, a long string of half-muttered apologies, as he swept a leg out behind him, pushing the door closed with his foot while nearly losing his balance, our dinners all but ending up on the floor.  Beau wheezed as if to laugh, though only I found the situation half as humorous. "Maker's breath--for the love of--well, this is embarrassing."

"I see you've forgotten how to knock," I smiled in spite of myself as I moved cautiously to wrap the towel around myself.  "Very gentlemanly, I must say."

"This is the part where you murder me in cold blood and wear my guts for garters, isn't it?" he swallowed hard behind an apologetic frown, his eyes still clamped closed.

"It _is_ Tuesday," I considered thoughtfully, still standing in the water as my skin caught goosebumps from the cold air. _Maker, he is so adorable_ , I thought to myself as I felt a tiny crack splintered across my heart. _Such a shame._

"I, uh," he began, reaching out for the nearby table through his voluntarily blindness to try and set down the plates of food, spilling a little bit of the mead in the process.  I giggled gently as I tucked a corner of the wrapped towel into itself at my armpit, securing it so I could move to help him. " _Oh,_ _Andraste's frilly knickers,_ " he cursed again under his breath through gritted teeth.

"Here," I suggested warmly, "let me help you."  As I took the plates from his hands, setting them down at the table, he opened his eyes for a brief second before realizing that I still wasn't decent, clamping them rapidly closed again.  My uncontrolled giggling pealed throughout the room as I took the wooden steins out of his hand, my fingers accidentally brushing against his, causing him to jump tensely.  "My, aren't you _jumpy_ ," I said, unable to stop myself as the knowing sarcasm just slipped out from between my lips.

" _Not helping,_ " his eyebrows arched over closed eyes and his tone took on a pointed grittiness as the red in his cheeks burnished to a fire that I swore I could feel even steps away.  

"Okay, all right," I stifled the giggles down to a grin bewitched in hopeless admiration. "Give me a second.  I'll tell you when it's safe to come back to the world of the visually inclined."  He groaned in frustration, his fingers drumming against his steel greaves, sending out small metallic strikes that knelled almost like tiny, angry bells.  

For as sure as I was that he wasn't looking, I thought it unnecessary to turn around to dress as I moved to the bed to grab my small clothes.  I casually dropped the damp towel to the floor, and stepped into them, carefully securing my breast band before wriggling my way into a pair of soft leggings.  As I rummaged through my pack, my fingers stumbled upon Alistairs worn shirt, the one he'd given me after my joining, and I pulled it excitedly over my head before tying my hair up in a messy bun.  _That ought to get the point across,_ the thought widened the smile at my cheeks.  At this point, I'd try anything.

"There," I chimed cheerfully.  "You can open your eyes now."

" _Hey_ ," he exclaimed in mock possessiveness. "That's my shirt!"

"Was," I reminded him. "Was yours."

He sighed in relief, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck.  As the cooling night air slipped in through a drafty window, Alistair removed his armor before kneeling down at the fireplace adjacent to our little dinner table to set a fire where Beau curled up next to him.  I sat in one of the wooden chairs neatly positioned there with my heels resting somewhat precariously at the edge of the seat pressed tightly against the back of my thighs: I wrapped my arms around my shins and rested my cheek against a knee as I watched him make quick work of the wood already waiting for him.  As he urged the fire to a blaze with his careful ministrations, I lost myself in his handiwork while a lazy smile tugged sleepily at the corners of my mouth before tossing a lamb bone down to Beau from a rucksack hanging on the arm of the chair.  Alistair looked to me, as if he could feel my eyes on him, and returned my smile softly as he finished.

"I'm sorry," he sighed up at me, his eyes unable to meet my own. "I'm sure as a noblewoman, no one ever has ever walked in on you bathing before."

"No," I agreed with a nod, "but there's a first time for everything, I guess, and I'm not a noblewoman any more than you're a prince.  If this is the worst that happens during the Blight, I'll consider myself quite lucky."

"So you're not upset with me?" he asked, returning to his work for a moment. 

"Not even in the slightest." 

"Hmm," he hummed between closed lips, spying up out of his periphery before standing to full height.

Finally he joined me at the table, and we ate our dinner with such a fervor that nearly frightened me: I hadn't realized just how hungry I'd been, and when Alistair asked me if I'd noticed an increase in appetite since Ostagar, I promptly agreed.  He laughed, revealing another gray warden secret as he told me stories of how he'd emptied larders enough times to be ashamed of himself since his own joining.  The rest of dinner went much the same way, and we eased into comfortable conversation as though the rest of the day hadn't happened at all as Beau began fall asleep and snore lightly.  It felt good to just be near to him without the terseness.

And then I picked up my cup of mead and raised it to my lips.  I was floored at how sweet it tasted, and was more than happy to drain the cup in a few gleeful gulps.  Alistair laughed again, joking that my resistance to alcohol must have also grown with my appetite, before he sent down for more.  Before I knew it, I'd drank more than my fair share, nearly four steins worth to Alistair's two: half a pitcher still remained, and I anxiously poured myself another cup, my hand shaking outside my attention.

"Whoa there, killer," Alistair steadied my hand with his, chuckling at the mess I was quickly making.  "You'll regret this in the morning if you don't slow down."

"You'll not be the boss of me," I eyed him playfully, realizing that my vision had gone slightly hazy. "I am the chosen leader, and as the leader, I will do as I please."

"And I'll be ready to remind you of that as you _pleasingly_ vomit into a bucket later," he responded glibly.

"It wouldn't be the first time you've had to clean up after me," I leaned toward him over the table, grinning deviously.

"It seems we're in the habit of crossing off all kinds of firsts together," his cunning leapt out from behind the cup he'd lifted to his lips before taking a long sip, one eyebrow set higher than the other.

"So we are," I uttered, settling back down into my chair before as an idea struck me harder than a bolt of lightning. "Let's play a game," I beamed at him from across the table. "We'll ask each other questions in turn.  What do you say?"

"And the rules of the game?" he asked almost cautiously, turning his head to the side as he set his cup back down with a gentle thump. "I never play any game without knowing all the rules first," he added with a calculating smile.

"Well," I said thoughtfully before sucking my lips back into my mouth, pressing two fingers lightly over them. "I think it's obvious that each question must be answered."

"Agreed," he nodded.

"And the answer should be honest.  No shying away," I pointed at him, narrowing my eyes in jest.

"All right," he set an elbow on the table, resting his chin against his hand curiosity. "And the winner, what do they get?"

"I don't see how anyone could lose if they follow--"

"I already asked about the rules," he chided me playfully. "I want to know about my prize."

"What would you have of me?" I asked, tucking in my chin slightly and setting my gaze to let him know that I was open to most anything.

"You will sing me the prettiest song you know, little bird," he smirked wolfishly at me, and suddenly I felt my heart sink, just a little.  

"And if I win?" I gulped down another mouthful of mead to hide my embarrassment. 

"You won't," another elbow took its place on the tabletop, his fingers interlacing with the hand whose back held up his chin. "But _if_ you do, I might have a present to give you."

"But you got to choose your--"

"Take it or leave it," he smiled so handsomely that my heart swelled at the sight of it against my better judgment. "I don't have to play or clean up your vomit."

"And yet, here you are," I smiled back graciously.  He shrugged, moving to lean back in his chair, sliding slightly down into the wooden seat.  A few moments passed and it became increasingly clear that he wasn't about to give me any middle ground: I could play by his rules, or watch him be a stubborn arse about it.

"Fine," I said, closing my eyes for a second to regain my composure.  "And please, by all means, take the first turn.  I wouldn't want you to feel put out."

Things started innocently enough as question after question unfolded before us: he probed more into my childhood as I asked more questions about the gray wardens.  There were several times I felt I should win, especially when all he could offer for answers were uncertainties, but since there was nothing in the "rules" about it, as he painstakingly reminded me, I let it pass.  

"Have you ever thought about being king?" I asked pensively, patiently awaiting his answer.  He paused for several moments before answering, as though he either didn't want to broach the topic or was choosing his words carefully. "Surely, you know you could do quite a bit of good for Ferelden, if you wanted to."

"Me? King?" he finally obliged me. "Ha. That's a laugh.  To answer your question, though, no, I haven't thought about it.  It was made very clear to me as a child that the throne was not meant for bastards and that it was best to put that thought out of my mind forever." He stopped to breathe for a moment before raising his cup to drink again, watching me carefully over the side of the stein. I blinked in anticipation of a further explanation, not satisfied with his answer.  "Besides," he continued, "I can't even lead our little band of ragtag misfits, let alone a whole country.  Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know I'm stranded somewhere without any pants."

"Okay, okay," I shook my head in response, if only to get _that_ blessed imagery out of my head. "That'll do."

"Here's something I've been wondering about," he started in on his question in such a way that piqued my interest. "You've never once considered marriage, not even to Teagan?  I mean, I know--"

"Oh, here we go again," I rolled my eyes heavily with some added exaggeration.  "For the millionth time, _no_.  There was no one of stature that ever interested me like that.  Every nobleman I ever met either laughed at me for playing with swords or simply wanted my title: none of them were ever interested in me as a person, and I found them all stuffy and _boring_."

"And the common ones?" his tone turned curiously to careful attentiveness as he held steady eye contact. 

"That's two questions, not one," I called him out in drunken boldness. "Lest you want to forfeit."

"I'm asking for clarification, not a new question: it's allowed," he insisted as I fully realized the warmth lingering at my cheeks. "Answer or start singing."

I groaned in disbelief that he'd press on such a question, but if he was this determined, then so was I. "There was one," I admitted shyly, shifting my glance to a knot in the table. "A knight in father's guard, who I might have fancied for a husband, but father never would've allowed it and it never came close to that."  I paused for a moment before looking up at him again.  "Are you satisfied?"

"Is that your question?" a twinkle in his eye shone brightly, and for a second it infuriated me.  He was amazingly adept at toying with my emotions, and I was rapidly giving up control of them to the alcohol.

"No," I drawled leaning over the table so far that my chest nearly pressed against it. "Here's one I hope you're ready for: if you've lived in a chantry for most of your life, have you never…" my voice trailed off for a moment, my eyes watching him for a response.

"Have I never what?  Had a good pair of shoes?" he asked facetiously.  

"You know what I mean," my eyes narrowed at him, pressing my lips together.

"I'm not sure I do. Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Never licked a lamppost in winter?" the smugness that covered his face at this point was enough to exasperate anyone. _He doesn't want to answer the question,_ I thought to myself, the giddiness rearing its head as I realized simultaneously that he was openly mocking me, which I would have none of.

"You're making fun of me," true annoyance flashed behind my eyes as I showed him that I was on to him.

Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought!" his glibness extended full force, and he returned my gaze with his own glint of knowing.

"Answer the question," my tone was a bit more forceful than I'd intended, the alcohol having taken the reigns, so I added a smile at the end as an after thought.  He chuckled lightly through a tiny sigh.

"Oh, all right," he finally conceded. "No, I've never had the _pleasure_ ," the stress placed there sent a chill down my spine: Alistair was much better with words than anyone gave him credit for.  If only Morrigan could see him now. "Not that I haven't thought about it, but _you know_."

"Never, truly?" I asked, almost shocked at his response.  How could he have never been with a woman: from where I sat, I couldn't imagine any woman short of Morrigan not wanting to tear his clothes right off. When he went to open his mouth in protest of a second question, I reminded him of his own justifications. "Clarification," I explained gently.

"Well, living in the chantry is not exactly a life for rambunctious boys," he laughed anxiously at the latter end of the sentence, and even drunk I could tell this was territory that made him extremely nervous as he fidgeted bit in his chair. "They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself.  That's not so bad is it?" 

"I--no," I said, unaware for a moment of the compliment he'd just offered me.  After a pause, finding myself unable to think and talk at the same time, it sunk in that he'd said I was beautiful.  My mouth dried out in a hot second, and I gulped hard trying to process the thought. "Did you just call me--"

"Oh no, no," he wagged a finger at me from across the table. "It's my turn for revenge." That familiar pounding in my chest had returned faithfully, as it always followed closely when Alistair was near, and I braced myself for the suggestive question that was sure to come, knowing that he'd not allow me to ask such a question without answering it myself. "So, tell me, have _you_ ever licked a lamppost in winter?"

I paused again, trying to construct the answer in my mind.  Should I be honest? Should I lie?  I now knew he was just as much a virgin as I was, though I suspected that I likely had at least a bit more experience than he did.  The thought was shadowed by memories of Rory, and they tugged at me a bit more than I'd anticipated.  I'd forgotten that alcohol had this effect on people, making them as sad as it did bold.

"I was close enough once," I revealed hesitantly. "but we were found out, so nothing more came of it."

" _Found out_?" he asked somewhat incredulously. "Now that's interesting."

"Being caught half naked in the castle chapel wasn't exactly my proudest moment, no," I figured if I was going to tell him, I might as well get into the gory details.

"Half na--In a _chantry_?" his voice broke as the fire rose back to his cheeks instantly. "You really _are_ full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I'm guessing Mother Mallol thought so, too, when she walked in," I smiled in spite of myself.

"Oh, Ma--Okay, I'm done.  I concede victory," he threw his hands up at chest level, a grin spreading across his face. "You're compromising my virgin ears, and you're too drunk to know what you're saying."  He stood up and came over to my side of the table, reaching out a hand to help me up. "Off to bed with you: it's well past midnight and you'll need to sleep this off if you want to be in any way diplomatic tomorrow at the tower."

"I am not too drunk," I declared, pushing his hand away.  I moved to stand on my own, bolting straight up only for my legs to turn to jam and collapse underneath me.  I hit the floor with a pronounced smack, my bruised hand reaching instinctively failing to catch my fall.  I pouted in a pile on the floor for a moment, my hand hurting more than it had in a few days.

" _Somebody's been drinking_ ," he laughed again, picking me up off the floor and carrying me over to the bed.  He sat me down and kneeled in front of me for a second. "How's your hand?" he asked me as he took it into his own, turning it over to get a better look at it.

"Ow!  Careful," pain shot through the top of my hand as he turned it over.

"Sorry," he glanced up at me in apology before he returned his attention to my hand. "It looks much better at any rate."  I turned my hand over quickly, grabbing his inside it.  

He looked up at me again, this time confused, as I steadied myself in preparation.  "Did I hear you correctly before when you said I was beautiful?  Did you mean it?"

"I think you missed the part where I quit playing your game," he said, his spine straightening as he used his free hand to smooth back his hair on the left side.

"I'm not playing," I insisted firmly, still grasping his hand in mine.  "You can't say a thing like that and not acknowledge it, Alistair.  It's unfair."  He inhaled heavily and exhaled in kind, blinking a few times before taking the time to answer.

"You are infuriatingly breathtaking, and you know it," he divulged with a sense of willfulness, "and I don't mind telling you because you'll likely forget it by morning."

"You think _I'm_ pretty," I remarked to myself in awe.  I was truly struck by his words, my heart so full it could burst. 

"Is that so hard to believe?" he cocked his head gently to one side, leaning in slightly. "I find it hard to take that no one has ever said that to you before."

"Only one," I said becoming increasingly lost in the moment. "and that was a long time ago."  My heart raced as hard and as fast as an Orlesian Courser: Maker, I was so ready for him to kiss me.

"Your knight?" he asked softly, pressing just a bit too far to the one thing I wasn't ready for.

"Don't," I laid his hand down in his lap as tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. "Please, don't."  The guilt rose and swirled inside me, grasping at my throat and ready to pull me back down with it.  I knew Rory would be so disappointed in me, reaching for another so soon after he sacrificed his life so that I could live, but I knew deep down that I'd rather have one longing glance from Alistair than nothing at all.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he smiled weakly as he stood.  He walked across the room to grab his bedroll, laying it out carefully in the middle of the floor next to Beau.  I watched him so sadly, my heart torn in a million different pieces.  I couldn't continue living like this, and I knew Duncan was right when he said that if I wanted to be happy, I'd have to risk it and try.

"Alistair?" I sniffled, wiping the little tears from my cheeks.  

"Yes?" he stopped cold, and even his hand halted arranging his sleeping space.

I curved a finger in his direction, beckoning him over to me.  As he approached me, he bent down to listen to whatever it was that I had to say. "I believe I was promised a prize," I said, my own weak smile snaking across my face.

"Woman, you are incorrigible," he said, his smile even more telling than his words.  He pulled his pack close to him, just paces away, and rummaged through its contents before pulling out a rather worn looking book.  When he opened it, a red rose lied there, pressed between its pages.  "Do you know what this is?" he asked bashfully as he handed it to me.

I gave a small nod in return. "Is this a trick question?" I asked softly in return.

"Yes, absolutely, I'm trying to trick you. I about had you, didn't I?" he started in with his infamous wit as I searched his face for any sign of intent, his infectious laughter creeping in again.

"Is that what you've been thumbing from the bottom of your pack?" I inquired curiously.  I knew I'd seen him fumbling for something in Redcliffe after all the nonsense with Teagan, but I couldn't believe that this was it.

"You caught me," he sighed through a half-smile. "I picked it in Lothering, I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness,'" his voice caressed my ears with a soft suppleness, so silky it might have lulled me to sleep had the situation been different. "I probably should've left it alone, but I couldn't: the darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So, I've had it ever since."

"That's quite lovely," I met his eyes thoughtfully.  Maybe it was the drink pushing me onward, but I'd never heard something so simple that had moved me so much.  What a lovely prize, indeed, for being so easily won.

"I thought that I might give it to you, actually," he added after a pause, his finger reaching out to trace the long line of the stem. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

"I, uh, thank you, Alistair," I offered too softly, my lower lip quivering at the overwhelming sentiment of his gesture.  Never had anyone offered me something so simple, yet so profound: the thought of it brought me nearly to tears. "It's beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it," he raised both of his hands to cup my own holding the rose. "I was just thinking…here I am, doing all this _complaining_ , and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it, yourself," he reached up to wipe away one corpulent tear that had escaped down my cheek before replacing it again and continuing on. "You've had none of the good experience of being a gray warden since your joining, not a word of thanks of congratulations; it's all been death and fighting and tragedy."

I released a ragged sigh as I closed my eyes, a that little smile returning to my face amid my gently quaking lip.  This was more than a simple reaction, kindness or brotherly affection: I realized that I'd been right all along, and a little twinge of happiness set to work on mending the sadness so deeply wrought in my heart. When I opened my eyes again, his smile caught my breath in my chest.

"I thought maybe I could say something, tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness," his face suddenly turned all bashful, not in the fumbling kind of way that I'd become accustomed to in my more provocative interactions with him but so gut-wrenching to let me know he'd just revealed himself to me, truly.  

Going on the only impulse I'd wanted to follow for days, I quickly leaned in and kissed him, those large hands of his still enveloping my own.  It was graceful enough to make me swoon an desperate enough to make an impression, my lips pressings warmly against his with a restrained passion, only a taste of how I'd wanted to kiss him. With my eyes closed, I felt him suddenly tense, his hands holding mine a touch too tightly, then melt a bit almost instantly, leaning forward into the kiss, and as my mouth opened slightly, he followed close behind with a little extra pressure. Suddenly, he moaned lightly into my mouth, perhaps a sign that he, too, had been waiting for this same moment.  The kiss lingered only for a second too long until I released him, offering one prize for another: the feeling in that kiss was enough to knock a star from the heavens and send it crashing merrily down.

As I bent back to get a better look at him, my chin turning slightly downward, I watched him slowly open his eyes and absent-mindedly lick his lower lip. "I, uh," he fumbled quietly, "wasn't expecting--"

"Thank you," my face tilted down and into my right shoulder as I glanced up at him from the corner of my eye, "Really.  That was beautiful."

"It was a lot of things," he murmured from behind an awe-struck smile, his eyes fixed on me. As I admired him for a moment, I tried my best to curb a yawn that was determined to escape, and I rubbed my eyes, the rose resting softly in my lap.  "You'd better get some rest.  Maker knows you'll need it," he laughed faintly, his grin still stuck in place.

I nodded, placing the rose on the nightstand so that I might gaze at it for a while before I fell asleep, and I crawled under the covers while he blew out the remaining candlesticks.  Before he settled in, assuming his spot on the bedroll next to the spot where Beau snored, his paws twitching in a dream, he bent down to lay a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Good night," he whispered, leaning down to my ear.

"Sweet dreams," I replied, my heart lingering in my mouth.

"Oh, they will be," he reassured me. "They will be."


	19. The Sense of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, something happens between James and Alistair, and there's no going back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me tell you how sorry I am that I've left you all this long: I've been dealing with some very severe health issues that have made me basically unable to do literally anything. I'm finally feeling up to getting some fic writing done, so I've written you this little chapter. I hope you like it, and I hope you'll forgive my absence! I don't foresee it continuing: I'm happy to be back!

With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.  
It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.  
\- Canticle of Transfiguration, 1:5

 

"James, wake up! _James!_ "

The sound of my name rang desperately off the walls and into my ears as I awoke suddenly to the sensation of an earthquake reenactment. My body threw itself forward, and I shot straight up, nearly knocking heads with Alistair abruptly as he sat on the bed next to me. Breath heaved in my chest while my heart kept time with eyes that frantically searched the room. I swallowed hard and shook my head lightly as I realized where I was.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked, his brow furrowed over a concerned frown. Seeing his face helped center me, convincing me that what'd I'd just seen wasn't, couldn't possibly have been, real.

"You scared me," I lied, raising a hand to my chest. "I'm not accustomed to being shaken awake."

"You were screaming," his eyes widened as the distress in his voice bled through. "I couldn't--I didn't know what else to do."

_Of course I'd been screaming_ , I thought. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips tightly together, swallowing hard once more as the nightmare flashed before my eyes. Flashes of red, fire and copper strands of hair, swirled around me, the smell of wood smoke and sulfur still lingered in my nose, and the screams, oh Maker, the screams were just beginning to dissipate from my ears. Only, it seemed the screams truly had been my own.

"Bad dream?" Alistair asked quietly after a moment, wringing his hands lightly.

"Just so," I managed with a crumpled smile. His expression darkened when I didn't meet his eyes, and he moved to meet my gaze.

"Please, talk to me," he urged. "Was it there? Did it talk to you again?"

I hesitated, my mind searching for a plausible story to tell. After pushing him away over Rory, I couldn't let him see how these dreams affected me. One moment, I was back in Highever, and everything was as it had been before Howe's betrayal, and the next, I'd been kissing Rory as a shadow slit his throat from behind, blood pulsing angrily from gash in his neck, splashing onto my chest and down to the floor. Of course, I'd screamed as the castle caught fire around me, the walls crumbling into red hot ash and embers, the fire consuming everyone inside, burning all around me. And as I caught fire, the heat engulfing me as my skin crackled like burning paper, all I could see were those eyes, those sickly yellow orbs bursting from within the shadow, and I didn't even have to hear it speak before I knew why it had come.

_If you like what I've given the boy, Connor, I've got something for you, too._

Its voice, merely a whisper, cut through the screams of the servants, the soldiers, my parents, and myself, drowning them all out. I wasn't at all surprised that I'd screamed out loud, my dream escaping from behind my lips into the real word, but what in Thedas would I tell Alistair? Not that, not anything about Connor, and certainly nothing more about Rory.

"No," I lied again, coughing gently. "Just your run of the mill, average nightmare."

"Didn't sound very run of the mill," he frowned, looking at the floor before glancing back up into my eyes. "I don't want to be pushy, and you can tell me to mind my own business if you want, but…" his voice trailed off for a moment, "were you having flashbacks of home?"

My breath caught in my throat for a second as I nodded: at least I could offer him that much. "Yes," I began, "It's hard to--"

"I understand," he interrupted me almost too quickly with a hand placed over my own. "You don't have to explain. I know you've been through a lot, and it's finally catching up to you…" his voice crept a few shades darker, "as Ostagar is to me."

The silence sat between us for a few moments, until Alistair's hand moved upwards to rub my right arm gently. With a nod and a soft smile, he moved to rise and go back to his makeshift bed on the floor before I instinctively grasped at his fleeting hand.

"Please, don't go," I pleaded, my eyes wide with desperation. While I knew I couldn't tell him the make and matter of my dreams, it didn't mean that I longed for space between us. He'd become the only source of comfort I had that could keep those dark dreams at bay, and after everything that had happened, saying that I wasn't craving more of his touch would be a lie.

Alistair's eyes met mine with a playful glint, as though deep down he'd expected my invitation. While my stomach turned lightly, wondering what that look in his eye meant, I moved over to make space for him while Beau rolled over sleepily, in dreams, before the dying embers of the fire place, finally settling on his side with a huff.

"If you think we're both going to fit in this bed, you're loony," he yawned through a half smile. "Petite and delicate though I am, this is the picture of close quarters."

"Is that a problem?" I asked, my voice too soft for its seriousness, as my eyes fled sheepishly from his own.

"No," he drawled, followed by a small cough. "We'll just have to get _creative_."

As Alistair climbed into bed beside me, I could imagine several blessed ways to use my Maker granted creativity with him, picturing our bodies as an intertwining, inseparable tangle of limbs. Finally, as he settled on his left side after a few moments of restless positioning, I faced him, and curled myself up against his chest, my head resting against his neck. Within a few moments, Alistair relaxed, snaking his arms around me as he usually had when we'd slept this way with his nestled amid the waves of my hair.

I might have fallen asleep quickly if it hadn't been for the din of his breath; while the rising and falling of his chest made for a calming lull, the loud irregularity of his breathing was off-putting. At first, I thought perhaps he was nervous, but the more it continued, the more I wondered if something was wrong. "Are you all right?" I pulled back a bit, glancing up at him from under a furrowed brow.

"Hmm-what?" Alistair jumped slightly at my movement, nearly smacking his head off the headboard.

"Your breathing," I said, trying hard not to laugh, "it's strange."

"Oh, is that all about me you find strange? Maker, bless my heart." I simply shook my head in response, settling back into the crook of his arm. After a moment, when my nose grazed the side of his neck, he sighed softly, nuzzling deeper in my hair. "It's just that you smell so nice."

_So that's it_ , I thought. For a moment it struck me that if it'd been anyone else, I'd have been unsettled by such a gesture, but maybe this was Alistair's way of memorizing me, one sense at a time. I smiled into the curvature of his neck, and the muscles of his arms seemed to tense around me for a moment as if by chemical reaction.

"Well, I've just bathed, so I suppose that's a good thing," my smile lingered as I felt myself melting into his arms.

"No," he returned, his voice pensive and low. "It's how you always smell, like heather and honey and a splash of the ocean. I hadn't thought of it lately, but now that we're in the North, it makes sense. It's like home, your home." He drew in another deep breath, stopping abruptly as he noticed me gazing up at him with a look that neither of us could define. "Not that I keep track of what you smell like, or think about it all the time. Maker, Alistair, could you be creepier?"

"I think it's quite darling," my eyes met his and dared to hold there, lightly stroking his cheek with the back of my fingers, as Alistair swallowed heavily in response. His cheek was peppered with stubble, but the skin underneath was soft, much softer than I'd have guessed.

"Do you, now?" he raised his eyebrows without looking away.

"You're right, you know. The crags amid the seashore are covered in thick patches of heather, some of it white as snow: it's said that's where the fairies are laid to rest, the most pure and pretty place in the whole world. Of course we had apiaries, too, and with the castle built right off the sea, it wasn't uncommon for a sea breeze to sing you to sleep."

"It sounds magical," he said faintly, his face reclining into my gentle touch. His eyes sparkled down at me, dancing in the moonlight that shone through the window.

"I can think of other things just so."

Suddenly, Alistair swept me up tightly in his arms, leaning down to press his lips against mine in a needful kiss. As he held me close, my heart fluttered through my lips at his act of initiative, one of his arms wound tightly around my waist, pulling me close, and the other hand wrapped up in my hair, pushing me deeper into his kiss so that I could taste the mead we'd shared on his lips. His mouth fought mine warmly, passionately, through the light grazing of teeth, and in an instant he managed to send shivers down my spine so tremulous that I could only grab fistfuls of his shirt to pull him near in response.

In that moment we'd become the creatively tangled mess of bodies that I'd hoped for, my leg crept up and over his hip as his mouth moved painting tiny, searing kisses at the corners of my mouth, our hearts going like mad. When he hesitated, his breath hitching in his chest with his lips just a touch away, I pulled him back with a kiss of my own, my tongue parting his lips with need. As I explored his mouth, his hand explored the line of my waist, inching closer to my breast, and I moaned lightly into his mouth. The divine pressure of his lips on mine drove me crazy, and as he pulled away to catch a glimpse of me, I lightly bit his lower lip, letting that velvet flesh slip raggedly between my teeth.

"Ah, James," he sighed, nearly out of breath. As I leaned forward to rein him back in, the movement of my body pushed against what could only be a growing erection pressing against my thigh, which sent him jumping backwards so that he almost fell out of the bed. "I--can we--a moment, _please_ ," his face crumpled hopelessly as I frowned at the new space between us, afraid I'd done something wrong.

As I nodded, lowering my head, he took on a sense of urgent fear, uncertainty. "Is it something I've done?" I managed, unable to look up.

"I dare say so, yes," he chuckled breathily. "Mercy, woman."

"I'm sorry," my frown deepened as I pulled the covers up over my shoulders, gathering them just below my chin.

"I'm not," he reached out to smooth a rogue strand of hair at my temple as his expression smoothed back into its natural loveliness. "I'm just not….ready for _that_. Not yet. This has developed rather quickly," he said, motioning between the two of us, "and I just want to be sure that when _it_ happens, _if_ it happens, it's because it's right and meant to, not because we're both looking to fill the empty space that the blight has left us."

I sighed, still unable to look up at him. Deep down, I knew he was right, and I felt silly for pushing the situation toward that end. And for all of my own baggage, it was unfair to lead him down this path unless I was sure, unless I was over everything tugging at my heart. "Forgive me?" he asked, bending down to look into my eyes.

"There's naught to forgive," I forced a little smile across my face.

"Yes there is," he countered. "I shouldn't have let it get this far, and I don't want to take advantage of you. I like you, and I want you to continue liking me, assuming that you do. If I messed that up, especially now that I know where we stand, I'd never be able to forgive myself. It's not everyday that a gorgeous woman kisses you so well that your pants grow three sizes too small."

"Now there's a thought," I laughed in spite of myself.

"Wait, you do like me, right?" he asked after a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side with a look I couldn't read.

" _Alistair_."

"Just answer that one for me, please. Your mouth and hands said yes, but I haven't heard you actually say it. I don't want to be mistaken."

"I thought it was rather obvious," I glanced up at him, confused. "Of course I like you. You're in my bed, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am," he beamed down at me. "It's just hard for me to tell what's real and what's caused by sadness and too much drink. I know I told you that I have zero experience with women, but it's the truth. I just needed to be sure, for my own sake."

"So, where do we go from here?"

"To sleep, I imagine," he offered, the playful tone returning to his voice. "We've got a long day tomorrow, and it's getting very late."

As the moon dipped low toward the foothills, Alistair pulled me close to him again, back into that little nook I'd come to know so well. When I glanced up at him, wondering how I'd ever fall to sleep with all that had passed between us, he instinctively rested his head against my hair, pressing a light kiss against the top of my head.

With that, I stared out the window and thought about the impending dawn, and the Tower of Magi. And for all that was right in the world, something still didn't sit right with me.

"I can feel you worrying," Alistair chimed sleepily through my hair. "Sleep now or I'll tickle you to death. Is that what you want?"

I laid my cheek against his neck again, resuming the spot I'd vacated, and closed my eyes reluctantly. After a few minutes, I relaxed into his arms as the world around me fled into the hazy forgetfulness of sleep.

"That's my girl," he said lightly, almost inaudibly, as I drifted off, my final moments of waking life that night full of lightness. No matter what lied ahead, I slept peacefully in his arms, and in that moment, it's all that mattered.


	20. Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James, Alistair, and Beau meet a new companion under the worst circumstances. James encounters an old friend in the most unlikely and scarring way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for you canon purists, I have strayed from the story just a bit. We're now in the "broken circle" quest, but I altered the bits in the Fade to suit my story. I'm interested to see what you think of it. Enjoy!

Those who had been cast down,

The demons who would be gods,

Began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth.

\- Canticle of Threnodies 5:11

 

_"You're wobbling," he lilted, his voice a singsong melody._

_"Do shut up," I answered in kind, focusing on my footing.  I'd been blindfolded as per our usual training ritual: he'd tie the azure velvet blindfold around my eyes, a rather sensuous act in and of itself, hoist me up onto the jousting fence in the courtyard, and issue commands in rapid succession until some sort of improvement presented itself.  "I'm trying to concentrate."_

_When he swept the hilt of his sword into the back of my knee, I should have been surprised.  This had, however, become another part of our game in time, and instead of falling clumsily off the bar, this time I'd managed to keep my balance._

_"Impressive," he admitted, the amusement in his voice only just evident.  As a coy smile crept across my cheeks, I could feel one spread across his, too.  "If it pleases your highness," he added quickly with playful sarcasm, "your training awaits…unless you're not done showing off."_

_I cartwheeled perfectly back across the length of the fence until I stood upright on the very last post just to make a point._

When Alistair and I set off that morning for the tower, my stomach was in knots.  The morning air outside the inn was terribly still, and as a pair of nearby birds warbled anxiously, I couldn't help but steel myself a bit.

"What's wrong, little bird?" Alistair teased.  "Feeling a bit overshadowed by your kin?"

I eyed him warily for a moment, just long enough that my glance ushered the toothy grin right off his face.  I sighed, drawing my lungs full of air and released it raggedly as I moved my gaze up to the sky.  

"The sky is clear, sunny even," I mumbled, shaking my head. 

"Okay," he returned in uncertainty.  "What are you on about?"

"The birds, Alistair," I insisted, my voice more pointed than I'd intended.  "They're green woodpeckers."

"I knew you'd recognize your own kind," he smiled again.  "You have the same eyes."

"Would you kindly be serious for one second?"  I asked in frustration as more of a demand than an actual question.  I began to fidget slightly as we stood there, the energy around us rising as Beau whined quietly.

"You must be joking--"

" _Alistair_ ,"  I snapped, scolding him as my eyes scanned the horizon off towards Kinloch Hold.  "Please.  Something isn't right."  

"What do you mean?" he furrowed his brow out of annoyance or concern: I couldn't tell.

"Green woodpeckers only titter like this when it's about to rain, but the sky is totally clear."

"Not a cloud in sight," he agreed, "but could you perhaps be overreacting?  I mean, I know that's typically not a question a sane man asks a woman, but maybe you just have nerves about your first day on the job."

"Maybe," I sighed with some reluctance.

"Relax," he urged, putting a hand on my shoulder.  "Everything's going to go as planned."

"I sure hope so."

Securing passage to the circle wasn't difficult.  Though Carroll, the templar-made-oarsman, was a bit averse to ferrying us across the lake, I swallowed my disconcerting premonitions and set myself to the task of persuading him.  After a serious of ignored pleas, I began to lose my patience.

"No," Carroll answered spitefully. "I've one job and one job only, and by the Maker's shiny gold cutlery, I will do it!"

"Listen, _ser_ ," my voice lowered considerably as my Cousland brogue peeked through, and a flash of lightning struck in my eyes.  "We are grey wardens and we have a treaty that demands First Enchanter's attention.  We _will_ get into that tower by any means necessary."

"Oh, a grey warden treaty!" he mocked me again. "So you're supposed to be one of those.  Well, I've got some papers, too!  They say I'm the Queen of Antiva!  What do you have to say to that?"

"I'd say that I don't think your superiors are going to be too happy when they hear about this," I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Isn't that too bad," he grinned back at me, pointing backwards across the lake.  "It's a good thing they're in there, I'm over here, and you're not getting anywhere near the tower to tattle."

"But there must be something we can work out," I pouted slightly, crossing the jetty with slowly swaying hips.  His eyes reconsidered me, going up the length of my body, down, and back up once more stopping with a light gulp.

"Well, now that you mention it," Carroll's tone lightened considerably, "I can think of a few things you might _work out_ if--"

Until that moment Alistair had remained behind me in total silence.  He chose to break it with the light scraping of his sword being drawn from the sheath joined in second by Beau's low growl.  Carroll looked past my knowing smile and over my shoulder where I imagined Alistair's face to read nothing less than a warning to press no further.

"As you can see, ser, our patience is wearing thin."

"Fine," he relented, "get in the boat, but don't say I didn't try to dissuade you."

The ride across the lake took hours, and the sunlight beamed down onto the lake's surface, glittering across the water's surface so bright that I was almost blinded.  Beau laid at my feet, wheezing uneasily at being on the water, and Alistair seemed to be enjoying himself, lounging at the aft of the small vessel.

"You're at ease on the water," I observed, trying to make idle conversation to distract myself from the sweltering heat made by the sun's rays on my armor.

"It's a part of Ferelden templar training," he readily admitted.  "You forget that I was stationed here for a very brief time."

"You're a templ--" Carroll asked in genuine surprise until Alistair's warning glance returned, shutting him up almost immediately.  I tried my best not to chuckle as Carroll's face fell flat like a child denied a sweet roll.

"I suppose I had," I smiled as Alistair straightened his posture, leaning in to our conversation.  "Why did you leave?"

"Let's just say I witnessed a mage's harrowing," he shuddered lightly, "and it was no less than nightmare fuel.  I said a very solid no thank you to that situation, because demons frankly scare the living daylight out of me, and someone saw fit to move me to the Chantry in Denerim."

I looked to the tower again, my stomach frightfully uneasy despite my vast experience being on the sea as a child in Highever.  I quickly pushed the feeling from my mind.  "Do you suppose it was on purpose that you ended up there?"

"It's hard to say," he shrugged lightly.  "It's true, templars don't necessarily get moved around that much, but it's not unheard of.  I suppose it didn't help that I felt bad for the mages, and as a templar, making friends with your charges is highly frowned upon."

"You felt bad for them?"

" _Feel_ bad for them, yes," the genuine care in his voice carried through. "The templars unleash a demon on them during their harrowing _on purpose_ to see if they can resist.  Most normal people, even templars, wouldn't be able to resist under the right circumstances.  I can't think of much worse to do to a person."

"You can't just go around telling people tha--

"Shut it, blondie," Alistair jaw clenched in annoyance, his eyes clearly delineating a request for Carroll's silence.  "What are you going to do?  Tell the Revered Mother on me?  Watch her take a ruler to my knuckles? You wouldn't be the first."

As Carroll huffed in angered frustration, our journey across the lake continued in much the same way.  Alistair and I discussed what we knew of the tower, his experience as a templar and the local history I'd learned in my childhood only a stone's throw away.  As we closed in on the tower, a massive column piercing into the clouds, it loomed over us seemingly ready to fall over at any moment.  The closer we got to the docks underneath the tower's base, the more uneasy I felt.  If only I'd have known what we'd be walking into.

_"Attack, dodge! Parry, lunge, pirouette!  Jump, dodge!  Thrust!" he called out each command more quickly than the last while I tried to keep up as best I could.  "Very good!"_

_"Was it really?" I managed breathily as the commands continued._

_"Jump!  Attack, parry!  And again!"  he persisted.  "Quiet that breathing!  Your enemy will hear you a mile away roaring with lungs like a charging horse!"_

_I shoved the insult down inside as I promised to get him back later.  I dedicated my mind and body to his careful commands: all I'd ever wanted was simply to impress him once.  Each motion became more perfect, more practiced than the last, my footwork a display of loving art, the swish of my knives cutting through the air, a silent "notice me."_

_"Backwards thrust!  Full pirouette!  Faster!"_

_As we continued for what seemed like hours, my mind was often bound to wander, working over what I knew was there, watching me, but I couldn't see. There were days I couldn't take it, this rigorous practice, and I'd wonder what he was thinking, if he was impressed with me.  I'd fallen from the fence countless times, bruised in places hidden so my father couldn't see them, and half of them caused by the hand I desperately longed to touch in a million other ways._

_"Pay attention!" he barked, sweeping my feet out from under me.  I fell to the ground with an emphatic thud, catching mouthfuls of dirt.  After a moment, when I began to pick myself up, his footsteps betrayed him as the rapid pelting of his feet against the earth heralded his aid at my side.  He always came to pick me up.  "Care to try again?"_

_When I smiled and nodded, he lifted me back up on the fence.  His hand slipped down, cupping my backside as he helped me onto the top rail, only moving his hand after he cleared his throat._

The Circle Tower was in dire straits, as we'd immediately come to learn.  The Knight Commander, Greagoir, tried to persuade us that it was useless, that the Right of Annulment was imminent and Chantry reinforcements were on their way.  As the sounds of fighting rang out just beyond the door, abominations and demons storming what remained of the loyal mages, I looked to Alistair begging him that we save anyone who was left.   Neither one of us could stand much more unnecessary bloodshed.

Utter chaos had broken out in the hall beyond where the templars had gathered, rebel mages revolted, fighting others loyal to the circle with blood magic, giving in to the demons surrounding them.  Alistair, Beau, and I rushed in, swords drawn, only to find a small group of mages defending a group of children, while one older woman fended off a rage demon with some younger apprentices.  As she finally brought the demon down, she quickly turned to us, almost baffled at our presence.

"Who are you, and how did you get here?"  the woman demanded defensively as beads of sweat gathered at her brow, dampening strands of white hair that had fallen into her face.  Her eyes were gentle enough, but it was clear that she was ready to strike us down if need be.

"Your Knight Commander, Greagoir, has sent for the Rite of Annulment," I began, my heart pounding in my chest from what I'd just witnessed.  "We've come to help stop this nightmare if we can."

"And why would the Knight Commander let you in here, if not to destroy us?" she gripped her staff tightly, her knuckles showing white against the grain of the charged wooden beam in her hand.

"We're grey wardens," Alistair jumped in, obviously uncomfortable with the rampant magic surging throughout the room.  "We've come to speak with the First Enchanter to fulfill a treaty that was signed long ago--There is a true blight forming outside, and we are the only two gray wardens left in Ferelden.  We need your help as much as you need ours."

"Will you help us?" I pleaded as Beau hopped over to the children, nuzzling them and licking their faces.  The woman seemed comforted, her grip on her staff loosening.

"We will take all the help we can get," she offered amid a sigh of relief.  "Forgive me, my name is Wynne."

"I'm James," I said, raising a hand to my chest. "This is Alistair, and that little bundle of joy over there is Beau."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Alistair offered with a goofy grin.

"There's no time for pleasantries, young man," Wynne eyed him teasingly as Alistair shifted his weight from side to side with an almost fearful expression. "But we can make formal introductions later.  Come, we've wasted enough time."

As we made our way through the tower, from one floor to the next, we battle our way through blood mages, shambling corpses, drakes, and reanimated skeletons that seemed to go on for days.  And while we'd encountered the facade of Connor's demon, battling the skeletal army it'd raised, this seemed different somehow, and the higher we went, the more scared I'd become.  While Wynne and Alistair charged forward when we encountered new targets to eliminate, each time I'd lingered behind for a moment longer.  I'd become incredibly anxious, ready to jump at any tiny sound, and as the smell of rotting flesh grew stronger the higher in the tower we climbed, my stomach churned relentlessly.  At any given moment I was prepared to vomit or scream depending on the stimuli.

Perhaps my only small comfort was the agreement we three had made to salvage anything that looked valuable: it gave me something to ground me as we climbed higher and higher, and I kept my eyes peeled as we went.  I'd managed to find a water-stained portrait before nearly, and quite literally, stumbling upon Owain, a Tranquil and the Circle's stockroom keeper, who had informed us of another mage, Niall, who'd come looking for the Litany of Adralla, a chant that would prevent a blood mage from taking over the minds of others.   I'd managed to amass a little collection, in fact: "The Rose of Orlais," a silver chain, and a chantry amulet amid my most prized finds.

It wasn't until we'd reached the First Enchanter's room that my hopes rose for the first time and were instantly dashed, leaving me more hopeless than before.  Some naive part of me had hoped that he'd be barricaded in his room, safe and sound, and ready to help us:  I couldn't have been more wrong.  Irving's room was a mess and it looked as though it'd been awhile since he'd been in his quarters, but it wasn't the immediate surroundings of his room that made me the most uncomfortable: it was the black grimoire we'd found among his possessions.  Holding the book in my hands sent chills up my arms, leaving goose flesh in its wake.  

"Are you all right?" Alistair's brow furrowed as I stared at the book in my hands.

"W-what?" I looked up suddenly, breaking my gaze into the tome's black leather cover.

"James, are you okay?"  his concern deepened as Beau circled my ankles.

"I'm not a templar like you, Alistair," I began to shake a little.  "I don't have magic to help me either.  Suffice it to say I am slightly unprepared for this."

"I'm here, I won't let anything hurt you and--"

"Please, Alistair," I waved a hand at him as he pulled back, a small twang of pain showing in his eyes.  "Let's not do this.  The sooner we're out of here, the sooner we can get back to the blight."

Alistair simply nodded as I breezed past him, shoving the grimoire into my pack.  While I waited for him, Wynne, and Beau to come out of the room, I shivered in the dank coldness of the drafty tower hallway.  I was freezing cold, despite the heat we'd experienced earlier on the lake, and weariness had set in.  While I tried to convince myself it was just an effect of the errant magic and thin veil in the tower, I couldn't shake apprehension making itself at home in my gut.

As we reached the fourth floor of the tower, new findings in tow, we slashed our way through charmed templars and blood mages first, then failed to save a templar from being bewitched by a desire demon, the most grueling battle yet.  The torment inside me welled up, eating away at me as we learned that we could not kill the demon without killing the templar as well, and I sorrowfully wondered if we'd be able to save anyone at all.  Alistair and Wynne both refused to let the demon go, and as they battled I watched the life drain from the templar's face until his body was a lifeless pile on the floor.  He was the demon's thrall, and we had killed him.  I was beginning to think this venture was hopeless: maybe Greagoir was right after all.

The longer the battles lasted, the more my body longed for rest.  There was no way that I'd rest now, not with so much terror lurking around every corner: something inside told me that if I'd be able to sleep again after this affair, I should count myself lucky.  Alistair was right, this tower was, indeed, fuel for nightmares.  I felt my limbs grow heavy and my mind become fuzzy the more we walked about the fourth floor, and as we entered the central chamber, everything became a blur.  

A large, looming demon snaked its way toward us slowly, leaving its prey, the corpse of another faceless, nameless mage in its wake.  As Wynne and Alistair attempted to deal with the demon, Beau hunched down with teeth bared, and I felt myself collapse to the ground while everything grew dark.  

 _After a moment I blinked, shaking my head, as everything around me remained dark.  I raised a heavy hand to my eyes, the plush velvet fabric covering them laid softly under my fingers._ _I breathed in deeply as my heart slowed, and the scent of the ocean, heather, and evergreen permeated my senses: a small smile crept across my face as the familiar feeling of home overtook me.  I felt a little hazy and heavy, like the final moments before falling asleep, but everything was fine, more than fine._

_"Should I send you crashing down from your pedestal, my lady," a familiar voice met my ears with a pleasantness I couldn't place.  "Or are you done dallying?"_

_"Rory," I smiled warmly.  "I seem to have forgotten myself, haven't I?"_

_"As usual," he laughed lightly, and the knell of his laughter played at my ears.  It was a sound I'd longed to hear, though I didn't know why.  "Do you want to continue practicing, or have you had enough for today?"_

_"Let's continue," I mused.  "I feel as though I could do anything right now."_

_As the words left my lips, my swords came to my hands, lighter than I recalled them.  It seemed only a minute before that my hands were empty, though I could've sworn I'd always been holding them.  I shook my head lightly to push away the distraction, and waiting for Rory to give his command._

_He worked through the chain with a certain deftness, as though he was weaving a magic spell, and I kept up with dizzying speed.  First a lunge, then a thrust.  Dodge, jump, and cut._

_"Excellent," Rory exclaimed.  I felt myself beaming and did backflips down the length of the fence, catching each post perfectly until I stuck my landing on the final post.   "Show off," the sweetness in his voice was evident, even though he was teasing me.  "Come on, again:  attack, dodge, parry!"_

_As I expertly danced my way through practice, I barely broke a sweat.  I could feel his eyes watching me, weighing me, admiring me, and it felt so good to finally have his attention.  I was important, worth his attention, impressive.  After what seemed like hours of balancing attacks and parries on those well-worn posts, I felt invincible._

_"Are you tired, my lady?  We can take a break, if you wish it."_

_Without use of my eyes, the sound of his voice was more luxuriant than I could ever recall.  It caressed my ears, beckoning me down from the fence, and before I could utter a word in agreement, I felt him climb half of the fence, pulling me down into his arms._

_"Down you come,"  he said, his voice a lavish whisper.  As he plucked me from the fence and carried me to the ground, the warmth of his arms and chest radiated through me, and I became achingly aware of how close his face was to mine.  He held me there for a singular moment too long before letting me slide from his arms down the length of his body until my feet delicately touched the ground.  I felt the world around me move, the ground quaking slightly as he raised his hand to untie the blindfold from behind my head._

_As the blindfold fell, the light was nearly too much, almost blinding me.  The afternoon sun was resting above the trees, and everything was bright, shining, and perfect in all its glory.  Throngs of ivy crawled up the castle walls on the inside of the courtyard, and a breeze brushed through the trees, rustling the leaves in nature's symphony.  As Rory came into focus, my breath stuck in my chest, and for a moment, I thought I might die just looking at him._

_"Rory, I--"_

_"Don't.  Just let me look at you,"  he gazed down into my eyes, his stormy grey eyes meeting mine with that power he'd always had over me.  As the breeze picked up, his copper hair tussled about, as strands of my own hair took to flight.  He reached down, gently smoothing them back into place, and his hand lingered at my cheek, a thumb absent-mindedly brushing over my cheek.  "Maker, you are a sight to behold, even if you are covered in dirt."_

_His thumb worked at a patch of thick dirt on the side of my face, and I smiled into his palm.  "Only you would find the time to both compliment me and insult me at the same time."_

_"Not insult," he corrected me earnestly.  "Never insult."_

_He kept my gaze for an eternity, simply staring into my eyes, holding me there.  I'd never felt as content and still as I had in that moment, and the longer he stood there, smiling, the wider my eyes grew, searching his.  I saw everything I'd ever wanted in those eyes:  a man who loved me, a beautiful wedding, a loving family, the approval of everyone I held dear.  But suddenly something changed, a twinge of panic set in._

_It was in that moment that he cupped my face in his hands, bringing his face down to mine to kiss me on the mouth.  When his lips met mine, I sighed, almost relinquishing all of myself to his kiss as his tongue circled my lips lightly, then parting them with an expert softness.  As he deepened the kiss, he pulled me closer, one hand at the small of my back and the other tangled in my hair, and as he drew me near, I began to lose my breath._

_The panic set in again, stronger this time, as I realized that I couldn't breathe.  When I pushed at him to try and catch my breath, I was simultaneously pushed back--my eyes opened wide, as everything behind Rory became shadow and flame, and a figure with a sword, that shadow from my nightmare cut Rory's throat with one swift pull._

_I stood petrified in absolute terror as the gash in Rory's neck spurted, covering me in showers of his blood.  His eyes grew apologetic, sad as his body sank to the ground in a heap, and everything around me began to swim and swirl in colors of fire and blackness.  Suddenly I broke free, flinging myself at his body, pulling him up into my arms as they shook terribly, uncontrollably._

_"No!" I wailed, sobbing into his hair.  My chest heaved with the force of a blacksmith's hammer as I desperately ran my hand over his face, smoothing back his hair.  "Don't leave me!  Please, don't leave me."_

_"James!  James!" another familiar voice frantically sounded as I froze amid the flames manifest around, screams growing in my ears.  Two shadows appeared in front of me as the pleasant smell of the HIghever I knew fled into brimstone and burnt wood: one smaller shadow held back the latter._

_"Let her come around.  She needs to come out of the dream," the smaller shadow demanded. I held Rory's head to my chest, bawling uncontrollably in continuous deep drags of battered breath and torrents of tears._

As the swirling died down to a grey haze, the landscape before me turned into a dull brown.  My eyes darted around in wild confusion: this wasn't Highever, and I had no clue where I was.  Nearly choking on ragged breath and tears, I looked down to Rory's body that had become a twisted, deformed mass that I instantly identified as a demon.

I unleashed a blood-curdling scream so loud that everything around me seemed to shake, as I pushed the limp form away from me in terror.  I scrambled backwards in a horrified frenzy, my whole body trembling furiously in panic, terror, and despair.  As I hurriedly backed myself into a corner, my mind was unable to process any of what I'd just seen or experience, and the unrelenting sobs continued as I tucked myself into a ball and violently wept.

"James, _please_ , let me--" the larger shadow bent down to to touch my arm but recoiled his hand quickly as my face shot up to meet his eyes.

" _Don't you touch me_ ," I spat at a form I now recognized as Alistair.  His pained expression read his emotions very clearly.  "Stay away from me, you-- _you murderer_."

"But I--I--" he began, his face contorted in disbelief and sadness.

"Alistair, give her a moment," Wynne offered gently, standing just behind him.  "She's just suffered through a great ordeal.  She needs time."  Alistair nodded gently, his head hung low, as he backed away out of earshot.

After a moment of heavy sobs past, Wynne bent down next to me and spoke quietly.  "Dear, you are in what we mages know as the Fade, and even though what you feel right now is very real, it was the work of demons.  That man, whomever he was, wasn't real: he was a demon, and your friend here has saved you."

"Please, leave me," I whispered through my tears, my head hung between my knees beneath a mass of red hair as Beau cried next to me, nudging my arm with his nose.  

"We most certainly will not," Wynne insisted.  "I will cast a spell to comfort you, and we can press on when you're ready….but know that we cannot tarry for long."

As she murmured rhythmic words I couldn't quite make out, a little light enveloped me, visible through the thick red strands about my face, and as she finished, I felt a bit lighter, though not free of what I'd just witnessed.

"You will need to work through this on your own, as all who are touched by demons must, but first, we must find a way to escape the Fade."

I nodded in agreement, and trudged behind her, walking straight past Alistair: I couldn't bring myself to even look at him.  Everything inside me felt dead and empty, just as it had the night I left Highever.  

As Wynne and Alistair searched for a way out, I walked with Beau at my side without a care as to what happened to me.  When we finally confronted the sloth demon, I found myself barely able to fight, nearly being severely injured several times.  Alistair continuously threw himself in front of me, sheltering me from the punishment the sloth demon dealt out, and eventually, with almost no real help from me, Alistair struck the demon down.  While Wynne and Alistair barely escaped with their lives, it seemed, I felt nothing.  I was looking for reasons to be left behind.

When we awoke in the central chamber, Wynne moved over to the mage's corpse that had been left there before we'd been taken to the Fade.  It was Niall, a spirit she and Alistair had met in the Fade before they saved me, and in his robe pocket she found the Litany of Adralla, a spell we'd desperately need to make it out of the tower alive.

Alistair immediately pulled himself together and raced over to where I laid.  He picked me up almost effortlessly, and set me on my feet with both of his hands planted firmly on my shoulders.  

"You listen to me," he begged, his voice like iron and shaking.  "I'm not going to let you die, and if I have to die to save you, so be it."

"Alistair," I let out an exhausted sigh, nearly falling over.  "I don't want this life anymore.  I can't do this."

"No," he shook me lightly, staring me right in the eyes.  "You don't get to make that choice.  You are a grey warden, you are a part of something bigger than yourself now, and I need you.  Please, if you have any kindness for me in your heart--"

"Don't," my face fell toward the ground.  "I wish you'd have left me behind.  Why couldn't you have left me?  I don't deserve to be punished this way."

"I know you don't," he lifted my chin to meet his gaze.  "You of all people don't deserve this, but I need you to be strong, just for today.  Please.  Can you just try?  I can't lose you, not like this."

I tried to force a little smile across my face but only met his gaze with more tears.  I nodded silently and motioned for Beau, who brushed up against me, putting his head under my hand.  

Our race to the top of the tower continued with some urgency, and as we went on, I felt myself go through the motions of each fight:  my arms struck out, my feet practiced those learned movements, but my mind was somewhere else.  When we reached the stairs leading up to the harrowing chamber, a templar trapped in a magical prison revealed himself seeming to hallucinate, believing that we were illusions sent to torture him.

The irony was not lost on me.

I stood there, half-listening to the frenzied rants of a half-crazed templar, but it wasn't until he began discussing the depths of Uldred's plan, the mage who led the rebellion, that something inside me stirred.  Uldred planned to turn the remaining mages into abominations, and I couldn't allow one more person to suffer as I had, as this poor templar had.

"Not one single mage can remain," he screamed, pleading with us to clear the chamber above. "They must all be killed.  _Please_ , do what I cannot!"

"We can't just kill them all," I fought back, my hands pressed against the barrier of his prison.  "Should others suffer as you have?  Is that what you want?"

"That is just what I'm trying to prevent!  Why can't you see this is madness?"

"Unjustly killing people _is madness_.  It is your sworn duty to _protect_ these people, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You chose this life!"  Alistair winced as I screamed back at the trapped templar until he  cowered in the corner of his magical cage. "Try to stay safe," I muttered after a pause, only half seriously.  "It'll all be over soon."

Before proceeding to the chamber above, Wynne devised our plan of attack since she knew the room and our opponents best.  She volunteered to be in charge of the Litany, much to my relief, and suggested that Alistair distract Uldred while Beau and I attempt to take out abominations and flank Uldred when we were able.  Alistair nodded firmly, looking over to me, seemingly trying to read my expression without luck.

When we burst into the harrowing chamber, what we encountered was more brutal, more gruesome than I expected.  Mages were tied up throughout the room, terrified and in many cases, injured.  

"Ah, so you've made it, finally,"  Uldred drawled from the center of the room, locking eyes with me as he forcefully turned a mage into an abomination: the mage's body convulsed, bent and broke before expanding, mutating into a monster.  "The master said you'd come, though I didn't think it would take this long.  It pleases us, the amount of power we've been able to draw in your absence."

"Enough," Alistair spat, drawing his sword.  "Fight me or shut up.  I'm not in the mood for idle chatter."

"What's your hurry, _boy?"_ Uldred laughed maniacally.  "In a rush to die?"

"No," Alistair offered nonchalantly, "Your face is hurting my eyes, that's all."  When Uldred growled angrily in response, ordering the blood mages to attack, Alistair responded in kind.  "Now you know how I feel."

When the mages turned into abominations one by one, Beau and I swept around, dodging fireballs and ice shards more narrowly than I'd have liked.  Cutting them down was no easy task, especially knowing that I had no real cover.

 _The one time where a shield would come in handy,_ I thought to myself, watching Alistair unleash his templar abilities on Uldred, preventing him from landing heavy attacks while countering the smaller ones.  They were beating the literal hell out of each other, and I knew Alistair wouldn't be able to hold up forever.    

As Beau took down an abomination, what I imagined to be its throat crushed in his jaw, several of the remaining blood mages turned to the tied up loyalists, beginning to chant spells that cause the innocents to scream and writhe in pain.

"Wynne!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as thunder cracked outside the windows, a squall of rain and wind freed upon the outside world.  "The Litany!  _Now_!"

Wynne immediately switched from casting defensive spells and began to chant the litany.  As she spoke the words, the blood mages were interrupted, unable to finish casting.  I gained a boost of energy, dashing over to meet Beau, flanking the blood mages as we tore them down one by one.  As we cut them down, Alistair's body flew across the chamber with force, landing with a thud against a wall as Uldred walked toward him, injured but still laughing at Alistair's misfortune.

I wouldn't watch him hurt Alistair, so I ran at his back ready to stab him with my dagger and run my sword through his heart, but in the moment before I could strike, a burst of power blew me backwards as he'd just done to Alistair.  Uldred took the opportunity to attempt converting another mage into an abomination, but Wynne was ready for him with the Litany, and when she interrupted his casting, he ran to charge her.  

Fortunately, Alistair had been able to pick himself up off the ground, and with all of the other abominations gone, I joined Alistair in rushing him, and we three, Alistair, Beau, and I, flanked Uldred, finally beating him down, Wynne unleashed a wave of healing spells that gave us the upper hand.  

"Who's in a rush to die now?" Alistair groaned, shoving his sword through Uldred's chest before pulling it out again and tossing his body to the floor.  As he towered over the pile of demonized flesh, he raked a gauntlet through his hair, nearly collapsing to the floor from sheer exhaustion.

Wynne and I rushed to the captive mages, releasing them all until we came to the First Enchanter.  Irving seemed in worse shape than Alistair, as though he'd tried to hold out for as long as he could be ultimately failed.  As Wynne concentrated a healing spell over him, I pounced on the opportunity to discuss this grey warden treaty: there was no way, after all this, that I was wasting any more time.

"First Enchanter, I--"

"Uldred…" Irving cut me off with shallow breaths.  "Possessed by a pride demon….We tried our best to--"

"First Enchanter, we've come to help you," I smiled weakly, and he nodded in response.  "Everything is over now.  The tower is clear, but the templars have called for the Rite of Annulment.  We need to get you to the Knight Commander."

Alistair and I carried the First Enchanter down all five flights of stairs to the ground level as he recovered along the way.  My body felt ready to break in a million different ways, so racked with exhaustion, but we had to hurry for the mages' sake.  Once we got down the main floor, Wynne bursted through the large doors, confronting the templars in an angry rage until Alistair and I were able to position the First Enchanter in front of Greagoir.

"Knight Commander," I approached him, all but slumped over and out of breath.  "I demand that you call off the Rite of Annulment.  The tower is clear, and you'll find all of the rebel mages have been dealt with."

"And what of Uldred?" he asked suspiciously.

"Dead in the Harrowing Chamber," Irving added from the floor.  "Go check yourself if you don't believe me."

"And, now that we're all here," Alistair began, "We are the last two grey wardens left in Ferelden, and we've come to you with a treaty signed by your predecessors that agrees you will help us in the event of a blight.  I mean to tell you that a real and true blight is at your door step, and we demand your forces."

"Such as they are," Greagoir scoffed.  "You can seriously be asking for our help with our numbers being so low."

"No, not exactly," I answered as thunder sounded from outside.  "We're asking the mages."  I turned to Irving, kneeling down to address him formally.  "First Enchanter, I know your numbers are few, but we have a favor to ask beyond helping with the blight.  The Arl of Redcliffe's son is possessed by a demon that is raising skeleton armies and terrorizing the town.  Some of our compatriots are in Redcliffe now, keeping the boy and demon at bay, but we have no way of knowing what's gone on in our absence.  Please, help us if you can."

"You have come to our aid when no others would.  How can I refuse you this?"

Scuffling between Greagoir and Irving ensued, but now that I'd gotten the answer I so desperately needed, I was ready to leave the tower for good.  As we gathered up our goods, and readied ourselves for the journey back to Redcliffe, Wynne and a band of able mages joined us at the door.

"I hope you won't mind that I've asked to join you.  You both need all the help you can get," Wynne smiled softly.

I forced myself to smile in return, "Of course, Wynne.  You're more than welcome."

Alistair moved to say something but reconsidered as he glanced over at me.  My face fell as I moved forward pushing through the doors and out to the docks.  The storm was raging outside though the thunder had gone, rain and wind were still in full force, but it was imperative that we not waste any time in getting to Connor.  We couldn't risk waiting for the storm to pass.

When Wynne, Beau, and Alistair piled into one boat, I jumped into the other with most of the mages, curling up at back of the little boat.  Before Alistair could protest, we pushed off, making our way out into the churning waters of Lake Calenhad.  I refused to look back as the rain pelted down, stinging my skin and soaking me through.

Hidden by the rain, I laid my head against my knees and cried until I couldn't anymore.  The farther away we got from the tower, the more real the feelings I'd experienced after the Fade became.  The amount of times I thought about drowning myself were staggering: I knew I couldn't swim in full armor.   Hopelessly, I tried to tell myself that I was just tired, that rest and a hot meal would help.

But deep down, I knew this was just the beginning.


	21. In between the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is laid out between James and Alistair after enduring chaos at the tower. Nothing goes as James had planned.

And before them, empty,

Outstretched the land

\- Shartan 10:7, Dissonant Verse

My mind blanked into numbness as we slowly crossed Lake Calenhad back to the jetty, where a weather-worn cart drawn by two large highland horses waited for us, called up as if by magic.  The ride back was storm-tossed and extremely miserable: it was a wonder that we all made it back without being shipwrecked.  The weather was damnable, and the wind roared loudly, causing large waves to almost overtake the vessels, filling the boats' so quickly with water that those who weren't rowing were bailing water.  Beau's eyes searched around in a panic from the front of the other boat, ready to swim to me if need be.  I tried my best to comfort him with a glance as we went, but my thoughts lied in dread with Alistair.  I silently hoped he was okay, but I couldn't bring myself to look to the very back of their boat.

When we finally arrived, I raced off the boats and over the jetty, never so happy to see a rickety cart in my entire life. The cart held a few crates of lyrium cradled by bundles of hay packed in between.  At the rear of the cart, there was enough room for two to sit:  while those seats seemed meant for our little party, the mages offered it as a "thank you" of sorts, it was clear that they didn't trust Alistair after seeing his templar training in action.  I couldn't blame them for being wary of templars, not after all they'd just suffered, and I was simply grateful for a silent reprieve, a short time where I could put impending conversations further on hold and try to collect my thoughts.

Immediately Alistair was ushered up into the front of the cart with some protest next to the driver while Beau hopped in among the crates, wrapping himself around and between three of the crates. The more Alistair politely protested, the faster the mages pushed him to the front of the cart: it was clear that they wanted him where they could keep an eye on him.  Wynne acknowledge me with a sad, understanding smile as she climbed on the back of the cart with me, but before she could say a word, the cart was off and she must have thought better of it.

As we rode on, the mages kept pace next to the cart with the rain pouring down even though the wind had subdued. I'd been soaked through my armor for well over a few hours, and I was so cold that nothing seemed to bother me as I rode in silence into the near darkness of night.  After all, with my head propped against the side of the cart, I'd nodded off at least four times, only to be abruptly awoken by the cart colliding with a hole in the road, my head smacking off the wooden beams that had just promised a few moment's rest.

Once I set to forcing myself awake, I'd come to learn from the driver's idle chatter over his shoulder with the other mages that a whole day had passed since we entered the tower, our stint in the fade took longer than we'd realized, and then I realized why I felt so exhausted on top of everything else.   

With the last light of day hanging just over the mountaintops, we stopped to make camp for the night. When we found an acceptable spot underneath a patch of trees just far enough from the road to conceal the cart, we began setting up tents in between puddles of rainwater building all around us.  The more tents we pitched, the more energetic the mages seemed to become: I'd forgotten that perhaps for some of them, this might be their first time outside of the tower.  I had to admit that I, too, was glad to have Kinloch Hold at my back, and as the mages built a fire out of thin air, the rain began to let up.

Soon food was prepared and passed around, and I shared my portion with Beau off and away from most of the rabble: I had set my own tent off under a tall tree that would keep most of the rain away if the weather went south, and Beau curled up at my feet, chewing on small bits of meat I tossed him while I sat slumped up against the tree's knotted trunk.  For the moment, I was simply happy to be alone, an all-too-fleeting feeling that was incredibly short-lived.

"So…" Alistair said, his voice undeniably burdened with a thousand thoughts as he appeared next to me, leaning up against the tree's trunk and sliding down to sit at my side.

As the moments passed, conversation struck up between the mages and their chatter grew so animated that I was happy at least someone could enjoy themselves in spite of what we'd all just endured.  They passed around drinks from flasks they kept in their robes, and it was almost comical to watch their antics until it struck me that Alistair was ready to have a real conversation with me.

"So…" I sighed in soft return, lowering my glance to the ground.  We sat next to each other in the same silence we'd kept for all the day through, and the weight it held over both of us was palpable.

"Have you been avoiding me," he began softly after a moment, "since what happened at the tower?"

It was a fair question, and one that merited a true answer for the most part.  I had all but ran at the sight of him the moment we set out the tower's front gates: I was dreading this conversation more than anything.  I promised myself to keep Rory in the past, which had backfired miserably, and now there were more pressing matters at hand.  If the archdemon, this Old God, had some hand in arranging what happened at Highever or used a demon in the Fade against me as it implied, I didn't want to think of what it'd do to Alistair if we got any closer.

"On _purpose_?" he added articulately as the seconds passed.  Out of my periphery I noticed the look of sad surprise on his face as he nodded softly at the realization, but I kept my eyes focused on the ground in front of me.  I couldn't force myself to say anything, and no words came to me that wouldn't have sounded ungrateful, selfish, or fear-stricken.  "I'll take the silence as a yes," he sighed, raking a hand through wet hair that shone a shade of the fire before us.  I might have marveled at the revelation of how red it actually was if I hadn't been so worried about what to say.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and a long ragged sigh filled my chest.  As I released it slowly and turned to look at him to take responsibility for myself, my breath caught in my lungs and little tears began to fill my eyes. I knew there was no easy way to say what needed to be said.

"Alistair, please," I managed as tears began to slide down my cheeks.  "Let me explain."

"I'm listening," his back tensed up as his shoulders neared his ears.  When he reached out to touch my hand, I instinctively pulled away causing him to wince slightly, and my heart sank into the pit of my stomach.

As I began to explain to him my experience with the archdemon in the past, the dream I'd had the a few nights prior, what it had said to me about Connor, and the vision that I'd had, his face contorted into an anxious, disgusted mess of emotions.  The more I said, the less I felt like I'd explained anything at all, and everything about Alistair's body language seemed to agree.  I tried to be as clear and calm as I could manage, but nothing seemed to penetrate the apparent wall between us.

"So, in the Fade, that was--"

"Yes," I agreed quickly, trying my best to miserably pull myself together.  "That was…Ser Gilmore.  The knight I'd mentioned at the inn."

"Do you love him?"

His question took me by surprise.  It wasn't that I hadn't expected to have this conversation, but I wasn't ready for it now, of all times.  I found myself in the same place I'd been every time Rory might have come up in conversation:  thinking twice about what to say.

"He's dead, Alistair.  He died defending the castle so that I could escape."  It was the best I could do without getting overly in depth and therefore emotional, and I hoped that might cover it.

"You didn't answer the question," his voice was cold, calculated.  I'd never seen Alistair like this before, and I wasn't sure I wanted to again.  "So I'll ask it again: do you love him?  Is that why you called me a murderer?"

"I don't know," I admitted, the urge to vomit from nervousness and anxiety rapidly rising inside of me.  My heart kept time with the thoughts in my head, racing with the million different ways this could end poorly.  "It wasn't like I was free to love anyone, as a teryn's daughter.  We'd spent years apart from each other after…what happened."

It wasn't like that answer was a lie.  I had never said those words to him as he said them to me.  Reflecting back, I couldn't quite place the feelings I had for Rory.  It was easy to be around him, and he was infuriating in the best kind of way, but was it his regard or his heart I wanted?  I'd never been able to picture a future with him, but I couldn't tell if it was because I knew it could never happen or because I didn't want it the same way he wanted me.

"But he clearly loved you," Alistair pressed pointedly.

I nodded sadly, tears streaming down my face.  I pulled my knees up against my chest, hugging them close as my lips pressed together tightly into a crumpled frown.  "Yes," I said between small sobs, "he did."

"And you didn't think to tell me this, that you have feelings for someone else?" his troubled eyes widened under raised eyebrows as he fixed his gaze on me.  "You, the person who yelled at me over my secrets, didn't think this was pertinent information for someone you very nearly shared a bed with, or are you the only one allowed to have feelings?"

"I didn't know how to tell you," I whispered through the tears.  "I fooled myself into thinking that I could put it behind me."

"Well, we're even now, I suppose," he leaned back against the tree, his head tilted back so that he looked up the length of the tree trunk, blinking hard.  A few, long minutes passed between us in near silence: I tried to force the tears down, hiccuping gently while trying to regulate my breathing, still unable to look him in the eyes, and he sat next to me, unwilling to look into mine.  "So what do we do?"

I shook my head, wiping the tears from water-streaked face.  In that moment I felt so empty, so hollow, that all I wanted was to have his arms around me, keeping me safe, but I knew deep down that until I was sure that the archdemon wasn't a threat, I couldn't keep Alistair so close to me.  It was a notion that stabbed at my heart like a dagger, but I couldn't lose him like I'd lost Rory.  Especially not if I'd come to love him as I wanted to.  

"I can't, Alistair.  Don't force me to make up my mind right now."

"What do you want me to do, James?" his face clouded over, the anger taking over the sadness and shock that had so recently shown there.  "I can't decide for you, and I won't keep pretending that I'm not affected by the choices you do make."

"Then maybe we shouldn't pursue _this_ , whatever this is," I spat back, just as angry. His words poked at me, pushing me over the edge, and while I realized what I was saying would hurt, I couldn't stop myself.  "I'm sorry that you feel you need to fake feelings to suit me.  I just want to keep you safe, and I can't promise that if you get close to me."

" _I saved you_ ," the amber in his eyes rose to a fire, a ferocity I'd never seen before with a tone in his voice to match.  "I fought my way through the Fade and I saved you from that--that _thing_.  I was ready to lay down my life for you, and _this_ is how you respond?  Please, _don't patronize me_ ; contrary to what Morrigan says, I'm a grown man, and I can take care of myself, thank you."

"Rory died because of me," I screamed, tears covering my red, splotched face: the rage and overwhelming sadness tore through me, bursting outward.  Where the mages had been lively, sharing stories around the fire and engaging in some revelry, they were not very intently watching our argument unfold. "If that happened again, I couldn't--I wouldn't…"

"If you only…" he began, only to pause for a moment. "He died because Arl Howe betrayed your father, James, and that's the simple truth."

"Alistair, I can't.  I won't."

"Then so be it," he muttered, standing up to walk away.  I reached up, grabbing his wrist to stop him for a second, and our eyes finally met. 

"Please don't go," I begged, "not like this.  I need to know that everything between us will be okay, that we can still be--"

"Friends?" he finished for me, his sarcasm cut through the night air.  " _Right_. I really don't feel like saying everything will be all right, and I'm tired of being nice about my luck, so if you'll excuse me."  

As he shook his wrist free of my grasp, the mages desperately pretended to be doing something, anything other than watching us.  It was clear they'd just witnessed everything, and I'd never felt so low in my entire life.  In a matter of a few weeks I'd managed to lose my home, my family, and my only real companion in the blink of an eye.  As Beau whined at my feet, watching Alistair storm off, I frantically scrambled into my tent, burying my face in my pillow as the tears flooded downward.

The night I'd lost Rory, I felt empty like a chapter of my life had ended that I'd never get back, but with Alistair, it _hurt_.  There was no second guessing, no fear of making the wrong choice anymore; in my heart, I knew I'd made it.  As Beau crept into the tent, nudging my arm with his cold, damp nose, I knew that I'd wanted to be with Alistair.  And though he held it together well enough, I knew I'd hurt him sorely.  

But I couldn't let him die, not like Rory, not like my family, and not like Fergus.  They were all alone in their last moments, death pressing down upon them like knives to their necks, and all because of me.  How could I force that on Alistair knowingly?  Maybe after the Blight was over and we'd defeated the archdemon.  Maybe after I was certain it was dead and the dreams stopped.

Beau pushed his head under my arm, placing a firm lick to my cheek to remind me he was there as I wondered if I'd even be able to convince Alistair to let me back into good graces, let alone his heart.  I should have told him about Rory, and there were so many moments where I could have, but I was so ruled by fear.  I thought if he knew, if I told him sooner, he wouldn't understand, but now that it was out in the open, I felt no better.

Suddenly there was a rustling at the flap of my tent, and at first I thought it was the wind picking back up. As a shadow from the fire shown against the back of my tent,  I turned so fast that I might have broken my neck.  "Alistair, is that you? I'm so sorry, I--"

"Ah, no dear, it's just me," Wynne attempted an apologetic smile, but it read only pity.  "We overheard your _conversation_ with Alistair, and I thought it best to check on you.  Is everything all right?"

"No," I said, falling back down onto the bedroll, shoving my face back down into my pillow. "It's not, but it'll have to be."

"I know the events at the tower were a bit extreme, and everyone needs some time to adjust, including both of you.  Give it a few days, I'm sure things will turn around."

"No, they won't," I hiccuped as tears began to stain my pillow in dark, wet marks.  "But thank you for your optimism."

"Well, can I at least give you something to help you--"

"If it's all the same, Wynne," I mumbled quietly, "I'd just like to be alone right now."

Wynne nodded, and turned to leave before stopping short.  "I know it feels like everything is upside down and impossible right now, but it'll turn out.  Just give it a chance, you'll see."

As she left to rejoin the other mages, her words bounced around in my head for a moment.  And even though I couldn't let myself believe them, I really wanted to.

_I hope you're right, Wynne.  I really do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm good for an emotional roller coaster if nothing else. 
> 
> You guys know this isn't the end of this, though. Cue the entrance of Zevran in the next chapter, which will deliciously complicate things and stir the pot. : ]
> 
> I'm also considering writing a one-off about what Alistair saw in the Fade (because in my head, it's spectacularly non-canonical): comment to convince me to do it! You'll find out eventually, but nothing would be better than reading the experience from his perspective...trust me!


	22. Can't You See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their journey back to Redcliffe, the group encounters a new face that sends everything awry.

Its towers forever stain'd,

Its gates forever shut.

Heaven has been filled with silence…

\- Andraste 1:11

After what I'd come to call the "incident" with Alistair, the day that followed was dull and grey until we met Zevran.  The empty pit in my stomach lingered, all the tears I'd been capable of crying had been exerted through the night, and I was left with some coldness through to the tips of my fingers that I couldn't shake.  Knowing that I had trouble falling asleep the night prior, it was no surprise that I'd slept just slightly late; though, it wasn't terribly noticeable as the clouds covered the morning sun in a silver, misty veil.  While yesterday's storm was over, today we'd be left in its cold, wet wake.

I urged myself out of my bedroll, though I'd have been like to stay, and ambled in my walk of shame past everyone who'd already woken, including Alistair.  I made no eye contact with any of them, my eyes plastered to the muddy ground beneath my boots, and clumsily walked past in a hurry to avoid overhearing any of the whispers they shared.  Alistair, in kind, stared down into his breakfast without even a nod to acknowledge me, and at that moment, I was simply glad for the escape, botched as it was.

I washed up quickly in a little stream nearby: its waters were almost unbearably cold, which only deepend the stiffness, the chill reaching down to my fingers.  Looking down, I realized that my hands were covered in dried blood and bits of grime, or gore depending, and I scrubbed at them while my mind turned to replaying bits of what had transpired between Alistair and myself.

It was the look on his face I remembered most clearly: the shock, the surprise, and the hurt.  He was right; I should've been more upfront, but looking back, there was no perfect moment to come out and just let the secret breathe.  Maybe that was the point, after all.  

 _How will I ever make this right?_ I thought candidly. _Should I even try?  He must think sod-all of me now after how stupid I've been. Maker, how stupid I've been._

As I returned my attention down to my hands, now splotchy and rubbed raw from my religious cleansing, I gazed at the yellowing mark on my hand: the lingering bruise Alistair had given to me.  I examined it closely, noticing that it had all but healed, that it no longer hurt anymore, though the discoloration still remained.  As I rubbed over it with my other hand, my fingers absent-mindedly massaging that ghost of a contusion, I hoped maybe the same would be true with Alistair: maybe, in time, the pain would go away leaving nothing behind but some small remembrance, a memory of what had been.  

 _Better not to push it,_ I swallowed heavily, shaking my head lightly, before returning to the others where Beau lied at Alistair's feet while he folded his tent neatly into his pack.  

As everyone finished packing up their things, I shoveled breakfast down with an extreme vigor that had come from nowhere.  I'd gone from not being able to even think of food to developing a mighty need for every edible in a 3 day's radius as soon the first spoonful of porridge met my lips.  Secretly, I longed to take my bowl back to my bedroll and ignore the world for awhile, but while I seemed to move at double my normal pace, everyone sped faster.  Suddenly, I was the only one who wasn't ready to head out: just another reason to hang my head in shame.  As I quickly and sloppily packed up my tent, everyone waited nearby, sighing heavily to get their point across.

"It must be hard for a princess like yourself to get moving at a decent hour," a mage I'd heard called Surana by the others said, her voice full of as much sass as the smile on her face, "judging by the fact that there's no one chasing you around to help you get dressed."

The proverbial cat had been let out of the bag, and I supposed that Alistair, the King's bastard, and I, the Teryn's daughter, were all but famous now.  Normally, a jab like that would've bothered me, but today I had no care left inside me.

"You seem to be doing rather well, yourself," I smiled back in equal jest, "for your first day out in the world.  I'd hate to see you get lost now that you've been let off your leash."

"So you admit to being a princess," she pressed further, a little more serious now, though her smile remained unmoved.

"The next best thing," I nodded, raising an eyebrow in her direction.  "Is that a problem?"

"No," she said after a moment's hesitation, "We'd just wondered what it was like…the other mages and me."

"Not all that different from your life in the tower, I imagine."

Their reactions were divided: some laughed out of spite and others stayed silent, their faces set in something a shade off resentment.  It was an honest answer, at least.  I wasn't sure what they'd wanted me to say.

"You're joking, surely," Surana returned, her face contorted in confusion.

"Oh, I wish I was," I articulated while Beau huffed at my side.  "Of course there are pretty dresses and all the fancy balls you like, but I could only eat what my mother deemed appropriate for a lady, I spent most of my days with menial, useless tasks that were only meant to help secure a husband that I didn't want or get to choose, and I was never allowed to leave the castle without an armed escort.  I was never alone: eyes scrutinized my every move.  I never had a demon forced upon me, it's true, but other nobles were no nicer than your templars.  I also never knew the manner of man I'd be married to, and that nightmare could've ended up far worse than simply being a teryn's daughter.   So, you see, we were both trapped in our own ways."

"Except now you're free, and we'll return after this business in Redcliffe is done."

"Her entire family was cut down before her, and her ancestral home was burned to the ground.  Freedom comes with a price, and maybe you can see what's happened at the tower as your chance to change things.  You have more power than you realize. And besides, if you want to help end the Blight, _you can get in line_."

Alistair's voice came out of nowhere, very matter-of-factly. My head turned quickly to see him just a bit behind me, looking over something in his hands.  I glanced him over for a moment only, offering a small, thankful smile in return, while Beau snorted in agreement.  He didn't have to defend me or say anything at all, but it struck me as very generous, very kind that he had: suddenly I didn't seem so cold anymore.   Wynne smiled marginally, knowingly for some obscured reason unbeknownst to me: perhaps it had something to do with Alistair's once having been a templar or something else completely.  I was simply glad she seemed to approve.  

As we walked on and the hours passed, I told the mages that I'd hoped they could finally change something, that they could finally experience a kind of freedom that they dreamed of.  It was in their hands, after all, and no one else's.  With so much turmoil in the world, especially in the tower, there'd be a lot of rebuilding to do, and I'd hate to see it go to waste out of tradition or fear.  I hoped they'd be able to to take the chance and run with it.  If only I'd have known...

Suddenly, we closed in on a blurry figure in the distance who turned out to be a young girl amid the wreckage of a few carts, begging for our help with bandits.  As the majority of the mages guarded the cart, the shipment of lyrium we carried would likely fetch a king's ransom in the right hands, Alistair, Beau, and I charged forward while a few other mages flanked from behind.

As we closed in, I thought many of the bandits too skilled to be simple highwaymen:  even the bandits in Lothering that had struck down countless families weren't this skilled.  There were moments when we were each three fighters deep, and thankfully due to Alistair's strength and my agility, we were able to stave them off.  With Wynne's help healing from a distance, and the freezing spells the other mages used to lock our opponents in place, we were able to manage them, but not without a few dents in Alistair's shield and a knick to my upper arm that I wouldn't be telling anyone but Wynne about.   As Alistair knocked the last of them, a blonde, slender elf, into a rock wall with his shield, the elf fell to the ground in a pile.  Finally Alistair raised his sword to dispatch the elf, but something inside told me to stop him.

"Alistair, wait!" I pressed, sticking my arm out in front of him to hold him back.  "I think we should question him, don't you?"

"You're probably right," Alistair said reluctantly.  "But at the first sign of trouble, I'm letting him have it."

The mages set to using the bandit's fire to make themselves lunch and get warm, and one of them even took to giving Beau a much deserved belly rub while Alistair and I watched the elf.  As Alistair sat next to me, silent and unflinching, I looked the elf over.  He was attractive in his own way, if not handsome: I supposed that he wasn't likely Ferelden, judging by how tan he was, and his tattoos were interesting to say the least. The tattoos swirled over bronzed skin, and his hair was plaited back at the sides in intricate golden braids: at once I could tell this was a man who put stock in vanity.  As I wondered at the elf, I could feel Alistair watching me watching our hostage, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his glance. I caught myself wondering what he was thinking when, after a moment, the elf's eyelids fluttered, and a small moan escaped his lips as his pupils adjusted to the light.  Now that he was awake, his handsome serenity had all but fled, leaving him looking terribly hungover: after all, we'd certainly come to know him later as the type of man who knew a good hangover. 

"Ah--what?  Oh, _oh._ I rather thought I'd wake up dead or not wake up at all as the case may be, but I see you haven't killed me yet."

"Quiet!" I started, pointing a knife at his throat while Alistair rose, standing behind me to glower down at him. "You'll speak when spoken to."

"You're a rather an aggressive minx, and lovely, too," he said as his eyes focused on me, the tone of his voice lifting with pleasant surprise. "But if it's questions you're planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point: my name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, I am a member of the Antivan crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any remaining gray wardens, which I have failed at, sadly."

Alistair shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and I could feel the tension building up tantamount to an electrical storm.  I, however, simply turned my head and pursed my lips over raised eyebrows.  I knew this was close to enough information for Alistair as his patience wore thread bare, but I couldn't help noticing Zevran's accent and the admission that he was from Antiva, albeit as a member of one of the country's most dangerous assassin networks.

 _Oriana,_ I thought as my heart sank in my chest.  It struck me how much I missed her, and how flirtatious this elf was at the same time:  a trait Oriana shared in playful private conversation.  

"Sad for you, yes.  I'm rather happy that you've failed."

"So would I be if I were in your shoes.  For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it?" Zevran's eyes focused on the ground for a moment, moving as if his options were corporeal and physically before him able to be weighed over.  "Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career."

"I know of the Crows," Alistair said flatly over my shoulder.  "Read about them, anyway.  They're supposedly a group of powerful assassins in Antiva, expensive to boot.  Someone went to great lengths to hire them, sparing no expense.  They're not unlike the wardens in the fact that they get the job done by any means necessary, but that's where our similarities end."

"I didn't know Fereldens were able to read," Zevran smiled mischievously, pausing for a moment. "We _are_ quite infamous."  

"Not for being great at your job, I'd hope," Alistar added sarcastically.  A small smile began to grow on my lips over Alistair's returning sense of humor, one that our hostage picked up on readily. 

"Oh, fine, is that what you Fereldens do?" Zevran questioned playfully, not even bothering to look up at Alistair.  He focused solely on me, his gaze burning into mine.  "Pick on your prisoners?  Such cruelty."

"And they contracted you for this job, I take it," I picked up, blatantly ignoring the look in the assassin's eyes.  

"Not precisely, no,"  Zevran considered me for a moment.  "I just happened to be in the neighborhood when the offer was made by a rather taciturn fellow in the capital: Loghain, I think his name was."

" _Teryn Loghain hired you?_ " Alistair interrupted, the surprise in his voice palpable, as I wondered fleetingly how he could be so shocked.  If his own guards wouldn't do, why not hire assassins?  It seemed logical, if not probable.  "And I suppose you're loyal to Loghain?"

"I was simply contracted to perform a _service_ , nothing more,"  while his voice remained calm, his eyes begged to be asked about  his "service."  In fact, even the way he said the word felt provocative, forbidden, _fun_.  I had to admit to myself that this assassin was turning out to be a quite a character, if nothing else.  _It'd be a shame to have to kill him,_ I thought.

"Don't think you're going to run back to Denerim now," Alistair pressed, almost growling. "Teryn Loghain won't spare you, and neither will I."

"As a matter of fact, I wouldn't have returned to Loghain, regardless," Zevran chuckled lightly. "If I had succeeded, the Crows would've informed your Loghain of the results, if he didn't already know.  If I had failed, I would be dead, or I should be at least as far as the Crows are concerned. So you see, there's no need to see Loghain."

I glanced over my shoulder at Alistair, who seemed ready enough to take this as an invitation as he began to draw his sword. "Let me help you with that, then.  What's keeping me from standing in the way of your destiny?"  

"What can I say," Zevran almost purred, his eyes locked on mine again, "I remain the eternal optimist."

"You were paid in advance for this, I assume," I said cooly, shaking off his glance again.  Zevran had been laying on the charm, and for a moment, it had caught me off guard. He was nothing, if not charismatic.

"I wasn't paid anything; the crows, however, were paid quite handsomely, which leaves me as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it," he frowned slightly.  "But being a crow is not for the ambitious."

"Then why bother?" I pressed over Alistair's impatient sigh.  I wanted to see what he'd say, if there was more to this Zevran that met the eye.  I had a sneaking suspicion that there was, and an even more prevalent one that suggested we take him along for the ride.  _What's one more crazy person, right?_ I justified to myself.

"Aside from a lack of ambition, I really didn't have much choice," his brow furrowed as if he'd not been asked this question much, but he returned to his seemingly trademark savvy in a heartbeat.  "They bought me young: I was a bargain, or so I'm led to believe.   But don't let my sad story sway you; the crows aren't so bad.  They do keep one well supplied: wine, women, men, whatever you fancy."

"Do you _never_ shut up?" Alistair groaned, his hand still firmly gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Why? I was not paid for silence, not that I offered it for sale, precisely."

"And what _do you_ offer for sale?" I smirked, raising an eyebrow at him in mock seduction.  

"James, you can't be--"

"A whole manner of things, my lady.  Merely ask, and you shall be witness to the menagerie of services and wares I offer," though he laughed, I wasn't sure he was totally joking.  "If you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further."

"I'm listening," I cooed.  I'd decided if the crow came out and propositioned me first, I'd let Alistair kill him, but if he offered himself to our service, I'd let him join regardless of Alistair's impending protests.  For one, I could tell I'd like Zevran if only for the added dynamic he'd bring to our group: nothing would ever be dull, that much was for certain.  Secondly, he was a skilled fighter that we could use for the Blight.  Lastly, I simply wanted a small piece of home to keep near, and that was perhaps the best part of all.  If all I could have of my family was an accent, a part of my sister-in-law that I'd come to know and love, I'd happily take it despite the cost.  Maker knew I needed it now more than ever.

"James--" Alistair pressed to no avail.

"Here's the thing, I failed to kill you so my life is forfeit: that's how it works," Zevran nodded as he proceeded. "If you decide not to kill me, the crows will.  Thing is, I like living, and you certainly are the type to give the crow's pause.  So let me serve you instead."

"And we should expect loyalty from you?  You're about to give up your employment with a band of assassins, expecting us to save you from them when they come calling?  I don't likely think so," Alistair's voice was heated to the point where it nearly made me flinch.  I couldn't deny that what he said was right, but perhaps I wasn't done being selfish yet.  

"I happen to be a very loyal person, up and to the point where someone expects me to die for failing.  That's not a fault, is it?" Zevran's puppy dog eyes did nothing for Alistair, and he sighed heavily before continuing.  "To be honest, I never had any choice in joining the crows.  They bought me as a child on the slave market, and I think I've paid my worth back plus tenfold; however, the only way out for me is to sign up with someone they can't touch.  Even if I did succeed now and returned, they might kill me out of spite for failing the first time, so forgive me for saying this, but I think I'd rather take my chances with you."

"Say that I'm willing.  Say that I'm actually interested.  What can you offer me that our spymaster in Redcliffe doesn't already?"  I pulled my dagger back, sheathing it at my side carefully.  His answer proved sufficient, and even though he'd tried to charm Alistair to no gain, I appreciated that he came clean about his past, however painful it might be.  I couldn't imagine being sold into one form of slavery from another, or maybe in some distant, twisted way I could.  Maybe that's what convinced me.

" _James, you're not serious._ "

"I happen to know the wiley ways of the crows, and I can protect myself and you, not that you need help because you're royally tough to kill and utterly gorgeous.  I am skilled in stealth and picking locks, and if the crows attempt to attack us again, I will know they're coming.  I can also stand around and look pretty if you prefer.  Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors?  Really, I can even shine your  armor: you'll not find a better offer."

"And what would you want out of this…arrangement?" 

" _James--_ "

"Being allowed to live would be nice and would make me marginally of more use to you.  And somewhere down the line, if you should decide you have no more need of me, I go on my way.  Is that fair?"

"I think that's accept--"

" _We need to talk.  Now_ ," Alistair spat furiously, grabbing me by the arm, dragging me to my feet and then some, a few yards away out of earshot.  "Tell me you haven't gone crazy and that you're not actually thinking about this.  _Please_ , tell me you haven't totally lost _all_ of your marbles."

"I'm quite serious," I said, wrenching my arm out of his hand as the small wound that I'd suffered from battle reopened, sending rivulets of  blood down my forearm. "We can use him against the Blight, and having another spy at our disposal, especially one that's dealt with Loghain, seems pragmatic. Why can't you just trust me?" 

"You're seriously asking me that question?"  his mouth fell open awestruck, and the dismay  was written all over his face.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he waved a hand at me.  "You are _seriously_ asking me that question right now, after everything?  I've been onboard with just about all of your insane choices, but _this?_ This is stupidity at its finest." 

When I should have likely admitted defeat, I had nothing to say.  The anger burned white hot in my cheeks, and my lips pursed tightly, trembling like a dam holding back the emotional flood.  All I could do was stand there, close my eyes, and breathe.  He waited there like a stone cold statue expecting an answer that would never come.  

" _Fine_.  You know what? You do what you think is necessary, James, but don't think I'm letting this go," he tensed up, his posture gone rigid, and he pointed at me, jabbing it toward me as a physical indication of his punctuation, no doubt.  "If this turns out poorly, it's all on you.  I'm not dealing with him.  I'm not talking to him.  I want nothing to do with him."

"I'm sure he feels the same way, Alistair.  I doubt you're his type," I resigned sarcastically with a sigh, wiping up the blood on my arm with a bandage from my pack before attempting to bind the wound quickly.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

After a beat, I realized the weight of what I'd said paired with Zevran's apparent tendency for flirty banter.  He obviously didn't think that I meant _I_ was Zevran's type.  

"Nothing more than what I said," I added resolutely.  "He doesn't seem to be chomping at the bit to get in your tent; rather, this seems to me like a legitimate way out of a bad situation into one that's beneficial for us all."

"I hope that doesn't mean what I think it means."

"Wait," my head snapped up, meeting his gaze for the first time.  "What _do you_ think it means?"  Finally, my anger rivaled his own.  I was done with petty arguments, and I was done with being shamed: hadn't it been clear that I had feelings for him?  How fickle did he think I was?  For as kind as he might have been, this felt terribly cruel, even in the heat of the moment.

"I saw how he looked at you--how you looked at him.  _I'm not blind, James_."

"If you saw anything there on my part, I'd say you are," with the unfettered rage inside me set free, I nearly screamed in return.  "This conversation is _over_ , Alistair.  Either he comes, or you stay. Right now, I don't care which, and I'm not having this--this quarrel with you, especially not after last night.  _How inconsiderate can you be, really_?  You chose me to lead, and I'm leading: accept my decisions or leave!"

With that, I marched with the force of a thousand armies back over to Zevran, trying my best to calm the anger and pain off my face.  I felt like Alistair had just slapped me in front of everyone, and I didn't want Zevran to see it affect me, not right away at least.  It might be clear to everyone else what had happened with Alistair, but I wasn't about to let that happen again.  

"Welcome aboard, Zevran," I said warmly as I could muster, offering him my hand.  He took it and let me help him up, smiling the whole way.  

"Have you decided what tasks I'll perform?" he asked in the most serious voice he'd addressed me in yet.  "Might I suggest bed warming?  I offer an excellent nightly turn down service, complete with tantric--."  When my elbow hit his stomach, I could almost hear the air flee his lungs.  "Point taken," he rasped.

 


	23. I Said Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Zevran lets his presence be known, he makes James an offer she can't refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Here's a little gift to you: I hope it's one that gets you a little excited for what's to come. I know it's a little short, but I just wrote it in a flash, and I wanted to give it to you. I hope it serves its purpose! Enjoy!

The realm I have given you  
Is formless, ever-changing.  
\- Threnodies 5:4

After I told Alistair I didn't care if he stayed, I found myself ill with the possibilities of the aftermath : in my stubbornness, I never actually considered whether or not he'd actually leave.  It seemed to me, then, to be a foolish, regretful mistake--one that I suffered the consequences of most acutely and almost instantly.  After all, it was the opposite of what I'd meant to do, except all of these feelings kept getting in the way.

As we continued onward with Zevran in tow, I found myself resolving keep that promise I'd made to Alistair nights ago, the one that exclaimed affirmatively that my emotions would no longer cloud, or to put it more accurately "govern," my judgment.  It seemed all I'd been capable of these past few weeks was making promises I couldn't keep and hurting the people I wanted to keep so close.  It was time, I asserted, to begin fixing what I'd managed to so easily tear in two.

All of the mages, both men and women alike it seemed, were quite thrilled with Zevran: his confident, good looks and charisma were both highlighted by his easy, almost casual, seductiveness.  When he'd joke or banter with all around him, I could see Alistair's uneasiness flare up exponentially.  His annoyance and distaste over Zevran's general personality was clear, but whenever things became sexual or the casual flirtation became more lively, he looked as though the only thing he wanted was to evacuate, to be anywhere else.

We seemed to trudge on for what felt like days in the gloom and grey, through the incessant tittering and the long, enamored sighs of pent up mages, until it all became too much to bare: even Beau's head hung low, his long jaw nearly brushing against the damp grass.  After we decided to make camp for the night, the expected festivities soon were underway as Zevran continued his reign as the star of the evening.  He found himself surrounded in a crowd, nearly every mage was within arm's length of him, including Wynne, and those who weren't obviously physically entranced by his charm simply gazed in admiration.  That is, except Alistair.  

I sat by the fire with Zevran and his menagerie of bewitched mages to one side, and even I wasn't totally immune to his charm.  Zevran was forward with his words, painting the night in the most beautifully sensuous tapestry of colorful vocabulary, a blanket that he would likely lavish over their naked bodies in mere hours.  The picture he gave them was a pretty one, promising for a most eventful evening, but there were things he said, perhaps too loudly or too plainly, that brought a blush to my cheeks.  And even though I found myself laughing along with them from time to time, my thoughts were elsewhere, stealing glances across camp to where Alistair sat, alone by his tent.

_What an utter mess,_ I thought, noticing that Alistair sequestered himself off from everyone else, and my heart dropped when I realized that it was because of me.  _If only I knew what to do--how to fix things…_

He looked so dejected there by himself.  His broad shoulders hunched over, his face wore several varying shades of exhaustion, and there was a loneliness about him that I'd seen before after we'd met Isolde, the Arlessa of Redcliffe, but not like this.  He had become that little boy again, retreating inward, who had slept in a haystack in the stables, and for as hurt as I'd been and for as much as I'd wanted to avoid losing him in the long run, regret stabbed at me as he gazed downward over an etched frown to something he'd been turning over in his hands: a little token of some sort, now worn completely smooth by those long and terribly worry-wrought fingers.  He stared at the stone in his hand, searching, as if he might find some secret revealed inside of it, and as I watched him there, moisture built in the corners of my eye that I hurriedly pushed away.  

Perhaps Alistair had caught me watching him warily once, twice, or more: I couldn't be sure how many times.  Our eyes met for the briefest instant before quickly flying away like skittish birds scared of their own shadows.  It made me sick to think back on what I'd actually said, that _I_ could be so callous and even sicker to think that he very likely took me seriously.  I wished then that I could take it all back, but I knew nothing was ever that easy.

In time, the fire dwindled down to naught, no more than smoldering coals, and I sat with Beau curled at my side keeping the night's watch as parts of our company retired in waves: Wynne was the first to return to her tent, shaking her head at the night's impending clandestine rendezvous that Zevran was sure to enact, followed by Alistair who carried himself like a heavy burden to sleep, and finally each mage with Zevran in kind.  In fact, I was sure I was by myself until a voice nearly startled me out of my skin.

"Warden," Zevran purred, his voice cutting the stark night smooth like velvet, as he made his way around me in graceful motions, sitting himself across the fire pit from me at last.  

"Zevran," I returned with a small smile.  "That was quite a display earlier.  Are you quite like this all the time?"

"For you, I can be whatever you like."  Even the curl of his mouth into a smile was artful, a cunning creation fashioned by the hand of a master.

"Oh, come on so," I sighed playfully, shaking my head at him as I leaned forward.  "I wish you'd be real with me instead of hiding behind that mask of indecent intentions."

"Does it not suit me?" The surprise in his voice caught me off guard, its genuineness almost too real. "Or are you so often told of your beauty that you don't need to hear it from me?"

"Oddly, it _does_ suit you," my forehead wrinkled in thought, my eyes focused on the embers and their idle play of lights, burning and faltering sluggishly in the wake of night's shadows before me, "but I want to know you better, the _real_ you, and I don't think what I've witnessed is exactly it, close as it may be."

"And I can think of many ways of knowing you might enjoy," the seductive lull returned to his voice as he moved to draw closer before I raised a hand, waving it at him gently to stop.

"No, I'm flattered, but--"

"Ah," Zevran uttered at almost a whisper before settling back into place, reclining against a log behind him as his casual ease returned.  "Say no more."

"And…you're not mad…" I tried my best to come up with the words, but this wasn't exactly the type of proper conversation I was used to. 

"Of course not," his reply was quick, calmly reassuring.  "It is your choice, is it not?"

I met his eyes again with a small, half smile before returning my gaze back to the embers, probing them not unlike Alistair had done with his little rune. A few moments passed in a relaxed silence I wasn't used to.  Zevran remained reclined effortlessly, gazing up at the sky, his face totally composed and contented, and I continued watching the little glowing theater of warmth at my feet.  

"And of course, there is someone else," he picked up that soft, sportive tone without missing a beat. "Obviously."

"Is it that easy to tell?" I looked up immediately, the worry wearing through my voice.  

"Even if I hadn't overheard your shouting match earlier," Zevran said, casually observing at his hand as he leisurely cleaned a bit of dirt out from behind a fingernail.  "I saw you gazing at your fellow warden all evening with--how would you describe it?  Ambitious longing, I think."

"You know," I sighed, feigning annoyance.  "It's easy to forget that you're paid to be spectacularly perceptive of your surroundings with a silver tongue like that."

He grinned for a few seconds at his hand before looking up at me.  "I let go a very good opportunity just there, you must admit, for a fantastic double entendre, my specialty," his eyes assessed me for a moment with great interest.  "Remind me, if you will, why I'm keeping these thoughts to myself?"

"Too flashy," I laughed lightly, gesturing to all of him. 

"That'll do it, I'm afraid," he nodded, his voice carrying mock resignation well.  "You like the quiet, broody ones, I take it,"   he didn't even wait for me to answer or give any sign of acknowledgment, "and that does not for a happy Zevran make….So, bella, what shall we do to balm things over?"

"I already told you--"

"No, no," his voice advanced, almost quickly, over mine.  "With your choir boy.  How should we proceed so that we can begin camp real estate conservation? "

I looked at him, my head gone nearly sideways with my mouth agape.  How do could I even begin to answer that question? 

"Well, if I can't warm your bed, someone must," he arduously insisted with a volume and sense of reason that I'd expect from Leliana.  "It'd be a grievous sin to let it--"

"I get it, I get it!" I could feel my eyes growing wide in mortification, trying to keep my horrified exclamations to a hushed whisper.  "Enough already!"

"So let me help you," he offered softly.  "One life's happiness for another:  you have given me a second chance without question, let me help you with yours."

My mind raced with a billion possibilities that might arise from this endeavor, and knowing Zevran, several of them likely were considered borderline profane, even in Orlais.  But then again, if I was going to work my way back to Alistair, should I not learn from the one person I'd known who seemed to write the book on romancing the literal pants off someone.  After all, even in the extremely brief period I'd known Zevran, it was clear he could work both sides of a room, and maybe, just maybe, it'd work.

"Come, bella," he rose, stepping over to me before reaching down and offering me his hand.  He helped me up as though I weighed literally nothing at all, a task that held its own magic and temptation.  He took me by the hand, instinctively leading me over to my tent.  "Tonight, you rest," he hummed delightedly behind a rogue smile before bending down gracefully to kiss my hand.  "Tomorrow, I teach you how to dance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Zevran and Antivans in this work: from my experience, in DA:O, Zevran seems to represent Antivans as more Spanish than anything (though, in DA:I, Josephine seems very Italian), so when I add in some of Zevran's native tongue, it'll be represented here as Spanish. 
> 
> I'm actually quite good with Spanish, so this will work nicely.


	24. Song of the Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As James and Alistair continue to fight things out, Zevran's best laid plans go awry.

And to the Fade you shall return  
Each night in dreams  
That you may always remember Me.  
\- Threnodies 5:7  
  
That night I had a wretched time falling asleep: the dreary damp left behind from the seemingly endless rain had permeated everything, so much so that all of my belongings simply felt wet and exceedingly cold, even if they had managed to stay dry.  I tossed about on my bedroll, uncomfortable and unable to remain asleep with shades of blue and grey lingering just behind my eyelids.  
  
As Beau slept similarly, fitfully, with his paws flurrying about in swift movements chasing things in dreams, I rose and exited the tent quietly as not to disturb him.  _At least one of us can get some rest_ , I thought.  _The Maker knows I won't._  
  
As I tiptoed through our small band of tents, camp was calm and still with only shadows painting the back of canvas tents and the whisper of practiced prayer:  I could see and barely make out Alistair there, in his own tent, reciting the Canticle of Benedictions.  
  
"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and do not falter.  Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just," his voice carried the Chant steadily, intensely.  His tone wasn't entirely unfeeling, but it was the intentness of it that gave me pause.  This was perhaps not the kind of prayer one casually eavesdrops, but yet, there I was.  
  
"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow," he continued on, "In their blood the Maker's will is--oh, _sod it_."  
  
The curse that followed those words of intended comfort struck me, and my eyes widened in surprise: if there was one thing I didn't expect from Alistair, it was to take the Maker's words in vain.  I'd guessed he wasn't exactly religious in any strict sense, but this was out of character.  
  
"Maker," he sighed after a moment, "It's me, Alistair.  I know I don't have to tell you that, but I fear you've forgotten me lately. I'm still here, still struggling to get by, it seems.  It's not that--what I mean to say is, I know I haven't been very vigilant in my prayer to put it mildly, but I'm hoping that you might smile in my direction again…."  
  
As he let out a ragged breath, one that all but painted the look on his face in sound, I felt as low as the dirt beneath my feet.  Some of this was, in part, my own fault.  I couldn't be ignorant to the fact that, after he'd saved my life, I'd acted almost totally ungrateful.  That familiar, grasping guilt, reached up from inside, and began to pull at me once more.  
  
"You know my life's not been a happy one, and I think I've borne as well as anyone could," he said, urging himself on. "But _this_ , these last few weeks, Maker, I've really come to question, well, everything. The only people I care about are either dead or don't want me around, and all that I touch turns to ash. Have I not done all that was asked of me?  Have I not been all that you ask?  And yet, I feel more isolated and lonesome than I did during those nights in the stables as a child, staring up into the heavens _knowing_ that I was alone."  
  
I watched the shadow of his face against the cloth wall of his tent fall downward gently in quiet thoughtfulness, shaking lightly back and forth.  I didn't have to see his face to know the sorrow that was very likely wrought there, engrained in his features.  He'd once said that he pitied Leliana for looking sad when she thought she was out of sight, but perhaps it was simply a recognition of some part of himself in her: that same sadness for something lost hung about him like rain clouds when he thought no one was looking, and I could feel it in the air just paces away.  
  
"All I ask, Maker, is that you consider me, hear me.  If I can't have my happiness, can I ask that the counsel I find in my soul be more comforting?  If I must be truly alone, please, let me be enough."  
  
I backed away from his tent in humiliation and heartache, and they carried me quicker than I'd ever thought possible.  I wasn't so proud to think that I'd been the cause of all of Alistair's despair, but I had played more than my part unnecessarily.  When all I wanted was to be near him, to kiss his sadness away and tell him how much I wanted to take back the misery I'd caused, his words sent me away: right then, I wasn't remotely worthy of his forgiveness.  
  
When I backtracked around the outskirts of camp and in near the fire, I found Zevran on watch, sitting on top of a log that had been rolled near the base of the fire when camp was made.   
  
"Couldn't get enough of me, could you?"  His eyes widened a bit, sparkling in the firelight, but I couldn't return that gladness he showed.  "Amiga," his face changed suddenly in surprise with a lowered tone in his voice to match once he got a good look at me, beckoning me closer with both hands,  "What happened?  Come here and let me comfort you."   
  
I slumped down next to him on the ground, knees pressed against my chest, and let out a small chuckle at the implication in his voice.  All I could do was just sit there and stare at my shoes, unable to bring myself to begin putting the words together out loud.  As he reached down to rub my back, I leaned forward to lay my head on my knees.  
  
"So, who did what to whom this time?" Zevran asked lightly.  "Or need I not ask?"  
  
"I wish I knew," I answered, sniffling and fighting back tears.  "Maybe it's residual, I don't know.  I overheard Alistair praying a moment ago and--"  
  
"Well, this ought to be good," a smile curled in the corner of his mouth, as I smacked the side of his leg.  
  
"Do let's be serious," I playfully implored as my sadness began to melt away.  "You did ask."  
  
"Indeed, I did," he agreed, "and I promise to listen intently with as few sarcastic interruptions as possible."  
  
Keeping to his word, Zevran listened to everything I had to say beyond the story of Alistair and myself.  I explained why I thought things had quickly gone south, what he'd narrowly missed at the tower, and why things were so hard for the both of Alistair and myself.  He listened to the tales of my ever-growing regret, of my nightmares and the archdemon, of my childhood and what I knew of Alistair's, and even the parts about Ser Gilmore that didn't seem to hurt as much now as they had just a day ago.  
  
"Let me be completely honest, bella," he raised an eyebrow at me as I looked up at him.  "I think simply locking you both in a closet for awhile would cure just about all the ill between you two."  
  
"Very funny," I said flatly, pressing my lips together.  "But that prayer, Dear Maker, was like a kick in the stomach.  I can't believe I've been so stupid."  
  
"You both have," he glanced sideways at the ground.  "The thing that bothers me the most, if I may," he paused for a moment, his eyes still focused downward, "is that he just let you go.  He didn't even try to fight for you.  Are you sure that's what you want?"  
  
"I--I hadn't thought of it like that," I admitted. "But it's not like I'd have listened or given him much of a chance, to be fair."  
  
"I think you deserve the passionate sort who never stops fighting, who would never give up hope, who dreams nightly of your face, that sort of thing, regardless of how your dreams guide you."  
  
" _Like you?_ " I smirked up at him, and he nodded back vigorously.  
  
"I wasn't going to say it, but you've found me out."  
  
"He did fight his way through the Fade to find me, through Maker knows what, and I called him a murderer to his face.  If that doesn't send a specific message, I don't know what does."  
  
"Fair enough," he agreed quietly, his voice no more than a whisper.  Things remained silent between us for a few moments: all was still with the exception of the fire, the wood cracking and popping as it burnt down.  In the warmth of the fire, it dawned on me how tired I actually was, how all of this emotional business had worn on me.  As I relaxed backward onto the log, resting my head against the side of Zevran's calf, thoughts of Alistair fled my mind when I remembered the initial reason why I'd decided to let Zevran join us.  
  
"Will you tell me about Antiva?" I asked him in hushed, tired tones.  "I've never been, but my brother's wife was Antivan, and she had many stories."  
  
"Perhaps you've heard them all," he lulled.  "But what is it you'd like to hear?"  
  
"Tell me about the sea," I sighed through a yawn.  "The sea is what I miss most about home, and I wonder if it's the same everywhere as it is in Highever."  
  
"As you wish."  
  
The moment he began to describe the coast of Antiva, its ocean waves as deep as sapphire and the sand as light as pearls, his voice soothed me into the ebb and flow of sleep.  I got one last peek at the moons shining out boldly from behind a passing cloud before closing my eyes and listening fleetingly to those ever dulcet tones that carried me off into the Fade.  Basking in the warmth of the fire, I had thin evanescent visions, the type of dreams you can only try to puzzle together after waking.  In them, there was a man with long, golden hair, whose face I couldn't see or couldn't remember.  I'd been searching for him in a crowded city while he waited for me there atop the ramparts, and when I felt like I'd never find him, the hoards of people consumed me, drowned me, until I woke up short of breath.  
  
When my eyes fluttered open, I noticed I'd rolled over onto my side, facing away from Zevran.  After a few deep breaths, I turned over to him, blinking heavily.  It wasn't until I looked up that I realized Zevran had gone, and someone else had taken his place.  
  
"Just me, I'm afraid," Alistair offered apologetically, trying to avoid eye contact.  "I hope you're not bothered."  His hands fidgeted, minutely at first but more so with each passing second.  "He told me to carry you to your tent, but I--uh, I figured you'd rather I didn't."  
  
"It's fine, Alistair, really," I propped myself up on my side using my arms for leverage on the log as I tried not to seem overtly nervous, though I'd really felt like vomiting from surprise anxiety.  "I'm glad you stayed."  
  
"It was my turn for the watch," the emphatic nature of his speech was a bit alarming, and I couldn't conceal my disappointment, which wore immediately on my face. "I know I'm not a comparable replacement for Zevran, but I didn't want to leave you alone here by the fire in case something happened."  
  
"I…" I tried to speak but the words caught in my throat, feeling parched and dry all of a sudden. "I don't expect you to be.  I wouldn't _want_ you to be, and I--"  
  
"Can I ask you something, candidly?" he looked down at me, really and truly, with eyes as wide and as vast as the blanketed, dark night sky.  For a moment I thought I'd sworn I'd seen something twinkle there, but I hurriedly decided I was wrong.  
  
"You know you can."  
  
He scoffed lightly for a moment, in spite of himself.  "It's been bothering me all day, this business with Zevran.  Why did you decide it was worth it to invite him along, really?  I know you said it was because of his sneaky spy qualities or whatever, but something about him…I don't know, I just can't bring myself to even motivate myself to want to get to know him."  
  
"He reminds me of Fergus's wife, Oriana," I admitted in a sheepish whisper.  "A lot, actually, and right from the moment we met him:  it was almost like she was here, alive again, and a part of me felt…like I'd found something I'd lost."  
  
He wondered at me for a moment without saying anything, though his eyes read me up and down like a fairy story with a piss poor ending.  I cowered down, cringing under his impending judgment that weighed down on me with the force and heat of a falling star.  I couldn't bear it if he was going to get angry over another of my selfish decisions, but he had recently reminded me of our pact for honesty.  I felt like I deserved any and all of his vitriol because of it.  
  
With a sigh, he nodded gently.  "I wish it were that simple for all of us," his eyes moved upward, searching the clouds for something that didn't seem to be there.  His left hand climbed up to the back of his neck, rubbing that wearisome spot that always seemed to bother Alistair when he was upset.  "Do you think it will be worth it, reclaiming those bits of the past that are gone?"  
  
"I…I can't say," I trembled at the casualness of his questioning, and his calmness almost frightened me. Certainly, with his regard for the wardens, if it was Duncan that Zevran resembled, he'd have made the same choice tenfold.  "But would you not have done the same if the tables were turned?"  
  
"Here is the difference between us, James," he began, leaning forward.  "You apparently want to cling desperately to what's gone, and I have no wish to relive it.  Admittedly, I've never truly had a place to call home or a family waiting for me, but even with the wardens, their passing grieves me.  I don't want a reminder that I can never have them back.  Anything close would be false, empty, like in the Fade."  
  
I couldn't tell if it was my noncommittal response or the reasoning that upset him most, but his words cut me in kind.  While I knew I deserved this and more, it didn't prevent any of it from hurting.  While I felt unworthy to beg for his forgiveness, I supposed it couldn't make things worse to ask. Maybe he'd come around, let me see that smile of his one more time.   
  
"I know you disapprove of me, and I am sorry for what hurtful things I've done and said," I attempted to scrounge up any dignity I had left, but found myself failing miserably as a heat equal to the camp fire emitted from my cheeks.  "But, Alistair, I didn't know what happened in the Fade wasn't real at the time.  I acted out of anger, out of agony: I hope you will forgive me if you can."  
  
"Every time I forgive you, you push me farther away," his features set sternly, and the frown that formed on his face seemed forged from iron.  "but I do forgive you.  I don't know why, but I do."  
  
"I only ever wanted--"  
  
"Please don't say it, James," he waved a hand at me, slicing through the heavy night air.  "What more could you possibly ask of me?  You wanted forgiveness, and you have it.  You wanted to recruit Zevran, and I've stayed when you made it clear you didn't need me here.  Please, just leave it at that."  
  
"You must think very poorly of me, indeed," I blinked away the hot tears beginning to gather in the corners of my eyes as my lower lip trembled in uncontrollable spurts.  "I know I've been horrid, but all I want is to show you how sorry I am. Let me redeem myself in some small way. Tell me what I can do to make things better."  
  
"I don't know what to say…but please, don't cry," he seemed to give a little as his face softened, the anger receding slightly.  "It's not worth it, really."  
  
Until he'd uttered those last word, I thought I might be getting somewhere, but they drilled right through me into my heart: not worth it, he said.  I was dumbfounded at his word choice, the mere method in which they so nonchalantly rolled off his tongue left a bitter taste in my mouth.  I knew I'd likely have to scrape my way back into his good graces, but for him to say my tears weren't worth it?  That was the last straw, and it took all I had in my not to slap him square across the face.  
  
" _Not worth it?_ " I asked, shaking, in a terrible, audacious whisper like the first light of dawn cutting across the dark.  "Do you not understand that how I've hurt you, the look on your face when you're off by yourself, haunts me?  I ask for nothing more than to better myself in your eyes, my heart breaks for you, and it's not worth it.  _That's lovely._ "  
  
"James, it's not--that's not what I--Maker's teeth," he fumbled as I nearly leapt up to escape, the tears scorching wet trails down my cheeks.  "Please, let me explain."  
  
"Oh, you've explained yourself well enough, I think,"  I spat the words down at him.  "I can't even beg you for a kind word now, can I?  Is this what you wanted? An admission of my guilt, my tears?  Well, you can have them!"  
  
As Alistair sat there, terrified and speechless, as I stormed off toward my tent, heat radiated off me so strongly that I thought the air might turn to steam.  When I laid down in my tent, angrily pulling a blanket over my head, I couldn't even recall how I'd gotten inside: white hot anger, bitterness, and resentment ate away at me.  I laid there, unflinching, unblinking, and barely breathing, waiting hours for the sun to rise: the tears that had come simply streamed down in silent torrents, and I resolved to ignore them.  If I could do that, maybe they'd staunch themselves and stop somehow, a feat that I was incapable of, myself.  
  
When the morning came, Zevran roused me from my tent only to find himself terribly disappointed in his handiwork once I told him about how Alistair had treated me.  I thought he might try to console or seduce me, knowing that for Zevran those two things were often one and the same, he simply suggested that we spar it out: something I was more than happy to agree to.  
  
True to his word for the second time, that morning he taught me how to dance, a fighting style in Antiva that requires very close combat.  Every time that I'd get to where I might have had him, he'd trip me and catch me in his arms.  Each time, he'd let me fall a bit closer to the ground, until I thought he'd drop me altogether; yet, every time he hold me there for a moment and help me back up.  For a time, I'd nearly forgot the evening with Alistair and found myself laughing with the thrill of vertigo.  As a few hours passed, and the sixth time he'd manage to catch me off guard arose, Alistair walked past.  
  
"You look good from up here, amiga, are you sure you want let go?" Zevran asked as he held me there as if he'd dipped me down during an actual dance.  My hair flowed downward in wavy tendrils,   brushing the ground with how far he'd let me drop, and I couldn't help but giggle until I noticed that Zevran's gaze wasn't focused on me.  
  
I dropped my head a bit, looking back, albeit upside down, to see Alistair plain as day, standing there in extreme confusion:  he was stunned, practically frozen in place, and the look on his face read some unholy mixture of contrition and disgust.  Something in me felt like dying as I stopped my laughter cold, looking back to Zevran.    
  
"Yes please," I cleared my throat as quietly as possible before managing to mumble those words out.  As soon as he let me up, my gut bid me to run, and I indulged the innate reflex gladly.  "Thank you, Zevran, " I muttered, avoiding looking at Alistair as though he was the plague.  "I had fun."  
  
He bowed slightly in my direction, his showmanship on full display.  "My pleasure," he articulated just a bit too sensuously.  While I could appreciate what he was doing, I had them both behind me in an instant.  As I made my way back inside my tent to begin packing my things, I could still hear them talking, where Zevran clearly tried to occupy Alistair from following me.  
  
"Alistair," Zevran drawled.  
  
"Yes, what is it?" the impatience in Alistair's voice was mounting, and I could feel his nervousness even this far away.  
  
"Are you a very religious man?  I'm curious because I believe I heard someone say you were raised in an abbey."  
  
"I was raised in a castle and schooled in the abbey; though, as far as being religious is concerned, I don't know, exactly.  Not especially," perhaps Alistair saw this as an opportunity to take a jab at Zevran as his tone turned upward, sarcastic. "What about you? Not in your line of work, I expect."  
  
"What makes you say that? I'm quite devoted, in my way, as most Antivans are," Zevran said, nearly gasping in mock surprise.  I nervously began shoving things into my pack, clumsily tying my bedroll up and strapping it in place.  I couldn't help but think that under any other circumstances, an exchange like this would've added to Zevran's more droll qualities, but at the moment I wanted to dig a hole and hide.  
  
"Truly?" the sarcasm in Alistair's voice mounted.  "But you kill people. For money."  
  
"And I ask forgiveness for my sins from the Maker every chance I get.  What manner of monster do you think I am?"   
  
"But you ask forgiveness and go right on with your sinning?" Alistair implied warily.  
  
"The Maker has never objected. Why should you?"  
  
I took a deep breath and exited my tent, tossing my pack next to me as I began work on disassembling the tent, itself.  I could feel both sets of eyes on me before glancing in their direction, which confirmed my feeling.  Being that I was both ashamed and too hurt to be any kind of normal in front of Alistair, my eyes quickly fled back to task at hand.  
  
"I…have no idea," Alistair returned, turning back to Zevran.  
  
"Well, there you go," Zevran offered as I caught him nodding in my direction out of my periphery.  "Perhaps you ought to think about asking for a little forgiveness yourself, hm?"


	25. Those Wasted Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Alistair come to an agreement, while Zevran does something totally unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about this chapter and the one to follow a lot over the past few days. While I think this one is pretty interesting, the next one for all you f!cousland/alistair fans, will be a great one. : ]

All things in this world are finite.  
What one man gains, another has lost.  
\- Transfigurations 10:1  
  
The remaining days on the journey back to Redcliffe castle seemed to drag on in odd occurrences, one after the next.  Throughout the first few days, I found myself staying close to Zevran, who'd done his best to keep me in good spirits.  During the daylight hours, he kept me occupied with stories about the Crows and their missions gone awry as we traveled, many of which caused me to guess at their sincerity: he had made it his personal mission, when the sun was out, to send peals of my laughter out across the mountainside.  And while I was still nursing those reopened wounds, he single-handedly carried me through it all.  
  
In the evenings, he taught me how to cheat at cards and how to throw daggers at moving targets so well, that I could hit a rabbit in mid-sprint.  When I tired of talking, we'd sit together as we had that first night, with my head resting against him, while he'd absent-mindedly stroked my hair as we enjoyed the silence.    
  
But I was somewhere else.  
  
My body was there, but my mind wandered to days past, where those fingers were Alistair's and this act read as more than simple consolation.  As we sat there one night, our legs dangling off the precipice of a little cliff overlooking Lake Calenhad, with the sun lowering itself into the lake amid the last rosy red tinges of daylight, I felt as though I'd been constantly awaking from some strange, beautiful spell, and despite those words Alistair had said to me, all that lingered was aging regret.  
  
"Thank you, Zevran," I broke the silence between us with my first words about Alistair since a few mornings prior, "for promising to help with Alistair, even though it didn't work out.  And for cleaning up the mess."  
  
"Well, amiga," he sighed in response, leaning his head slightly to rest on mine at his shoulder, "planning has never been my strong suit.  Now _killing_ …"  his voice trailed off as Alistair approached us, and we both picked up our heads and leaned in opposite directions to watch as he positioned himself similarly, feet suspended over the edge.    
  
"Killing and love-making and witty retorts: those I am better at," Zevran continued after the awkward, watchful pause that Alistair had caused.  Alistair's face stiffened in annoyance, and it was clear that he showed restraint through pursed lips and up-turned eyes.  As Alistair swallowed heavily, he turned to us with a small, seemingly forced, smile.  
  
"Mind if I join you?" he asked somewhat reservedly, looking up at me through a lowered glance.  "If I'm interrupting something, I can--"  
  
"Oh, not to worry, my friend," Zevran reached over to lightly smack Alistair on the arm.  "If you were interrupting something, _you'd know_."  
  
"Well, isn't that a comfort?" Alistair blinked heavily a few times over a tone that was slightly more than mocking.  
  
My eyes darted rapidly between the two of them: this type of encounter happened several times over the last few days, much to Alistair's chagrin.  He would approach me, usually while I was away from Zevran for a split second, Zevran would drop in to save me, and make some excuse for our departure just after poking as much fun as he could get away with sensibly.  Though Zevran had been pushing things more and more with each passing instance, Alistair let them go with as much grace as he could.    
  
Part of me was glad on both accounts, that Alistair had been persistent in his attempts, for whatever reason, and that Zevran was quick to rescue me from them.  From Alistair's fretting, the hitch in his voice when he'd address me when he thought Zevran was out of earshot or the fussing with whatever little object he happened to be holding, it was obvious that he just as nervous as me, but part of me was too hot still, too fearful from our last talk to know what to expect from him.  It was bad enough to have begged for his forgiveness and to receive it begrudgingly, reluctantly, but to be beaten down and dismissed like a dog, my feelings "not worth it," left me more than apprehensive.  My heart nearly choked me as it quaked in my throat when Zevran began to stand up.  I waited for his hand to help me up, but it never came.  
  
"Ah, yes, and speaking of comforts," Zevran retorted, "I believe it's my turn to relieve you from your duties as private chef, if I'm not mistaken.  If you'll excuse me…"   My eyes widened in panic at Zevran's back as he wandered away, and I began to count my opportunities to escape myself, the most alluring and immediate of which appeared to be simply jumping off the cliff before me.  
  
Once Zevran was a few paces away, Alistair slid closer to me, lessening the gap between us.  Once he occupied the space Zevran had left, I felt myself leaning away, nearly shaking.  If a butterfly had landed within a 3 foot radius of me, I was confident I'd have leapt directly out of my own skin in that exact moment.  
  
"So…" Alistair peeked up from the ground, assessing the likelihood of my bolting in the opposite direction by scanning my face.  "Do I have permission to speak to you, or will your knight in shining armor swoop in to save you at the first sign of danger?"  
  
"Swooping is bad," I croaked, my voice catching in my throat.  It was the first thing that came to me in the moment, and my panicked brain had no time filter what words hurdled out from behind my lips.  
  
"I'm surprised you remember that," he laughed, genuinely laughed, as a smile grew from cheek to cheek.  My eyebrows rose at the realization it was the first time I'd seen him smile at all in days.   
  
"I remember a lot of things."     
  
His smile faded like a star in morning light, gone in an instant, and he coughed lightly, perhaps not knowing or knowing all too well what I'd meant.  
  
"Yes, well," he said, his forehead crinkling as his lips drew up in one corner, "I suppose that's very fair.  I would've told you this sooner, if you'd have let me, but as it turns out, I'm an idiot."  
  
He waited for a response, but I offered nothing except a little, developing frown.  
  
"Complete idiot.  A real moron, actually.  The depths of my stupidity know no bounds,"  he laughed anxiously, as one hand raked through his hair.  He looked over for some sign, some reaction, anything, but I had no words.  
  
"James, listen--" he turned abruptly, gathering my hands in his own in one swift motion, and his touch sent me jumping.  I innately jerked forward, so much so that I nearly fell, almost slipping off the edge rock precipice completely. His surprise matched my own as his sharp, rapid gasp cut through my field of sound, while his reflexes sprung off like a bolt of lightning: his muscles tensed all around me, tightening into bundles of hard granite as I realized he'd caught me in an accidental embrace, steadying me as we sat next to each other.  
  
We exhaled slowly and at the same time, and I couldn't help but be very aware of his arms around me, couldn't help but look up into his eyes for a moment before both of our cheeks took to the color of that sailor's sunset.  
  
"James," he urged me huskily, the hitch in his voice returning as my eyes lowered away from his own. "you're trembling."  
  
"I…I'm…" I couldn't form words together that made any sense.  His proximity and searching eyes were too much to process at once as my mind decided to put verbal communication last on its list of priorities.  
  
"Afraid?" he offered, his features falling slightly.  
  
"Among other things, yes," I nodded gently.  "Terrified might be more apt, actually."  
  
"Of me?" he tilted his head to the side, his chin jetting out toward me as he frowned, and all I could give in response was a contrived half-smile.  " _Maker's breath_ ," he sighed heavily.  "I've really cocked things up this time, haven't I?"  
  
"I know I've helped," my smile relaxed into a more genuine one.  "A little."  
  
He chuckled in spite of himself, and that little grin I'd admired so much appeared again, gracing his chiseled jaw that the sunset saw fit to illuminate in its final moments.  He moved one hand that had been grasping me at my lower back, to smooth a strand of hair away from my eyes, and while the familiar feel of his calloused fingers at my forehead sent a tingle down my spine, something inside me begged me not to just give in.  
  
"Alistair, I--" I began, pulling away slightly as my eyes narrowed.  He released me entirely, but his gaze didn't budge.   
  
"Do you remember asking what you could do to improve yourself in my eyes?  Is that how you put it?" he asked, his voice so low that it might have turned my legs to jelly, had we been standing.  
  
"I think so, yes," I gulped, feeling slightly drunk on how close he was, the dawning recognition of how wonderful he smelled.  
  
"You could begin by understanding that I'm a dolt, a very sorry one at that," he offered, "and help me figure out how we can work past all this…toward being friends again."  
  
 _Friends,_ I thought.  I should be grateful for even that, I knew, considering all of the dark places we might have found ourselves instead.  _It will have to do, for now._   
  
"First, you have to be nice to Zevran," I started delicately after a calculated pause, motioning over to where he sat, with the rest of our company, eating out of their supper bowls and staring at us like a dinner theater.   
  
"Only if you promise to tell me everything going on in that head of yours," he raised his eyebrows as he gestured in my direction with his chin, jetting it out and looking at my down the tip of his nose. "And I do mean everything."  
  
"It's a deal then," I half-happily resigned as he grasped my hand between his, shaking it with an eagerness I hadn't seem from him in days.    
  
"That's my girl."     
  
Those words sent my stomach to clenching as I clumsily drew up the corners of my mouth as quickly as I could to mask that tiny kick to the gut.  While he took to beaming a bright little smile, my hand still firmly lodged inside his own, I realized that being "friends" might be harder than I'd thought.  
  
Once I was able, I suggested that Alistair and I rejoin the others for dinner: perhaps it was the booming rumble of stomach that might have set a crevice in the earth if it were any louder or the savory smell of dinner tinged in the breeze that urged me along, but admittedly, I was just happy to rejoin the others. Even though he sat next to me, perhaps too close for my own comfort, the rest of our happy company gave me space inside my own mind.  The busyness of conversation and the lightness of their chatter, even amid their suggestive glances between Alistair and myself, was enough to keep my mind occupied to the point I almost didn't notice he was there.    
  
As Zevran began to pass around the dinner bowls, filling it with a rabbit stew that set my mouth to uncontrollable watering, I watched Alistair retreat inside himself.  With each first bite, everyone went out of their way to compliment Zevran on his endeavor: I thought back to the meals we'd had since the tower, the ones that Alistair had prepared, and everyone accepted them quietly, without a word about the meal to his face.  It wasn't that his cooking was bad, per se, it was perhaps more boring than anything.  He'd only burned dinner once, and even then, it hadn't been that bad.  But  there was a distance in Alistair's face that had overwhelmed his little smile from moments ago as he stared down into his bowl, and I could only imagine all the voices in his head, Isolde's, the Revered Mother's perhaps, maybe even Eamon's, that remarked on his shortcomings, either explicitly and out loud or by omission alone.  
  
"Yes, thank you, Zevran," Alistair tacked on, mustering up a bit of lightness though that weighted distance hung in his voice like drenched wool.  "I'm just glad I didn't have to make it.  Maker knows it's not my strong point."  
  
"I think we can all attest to that," Zevran said pressing a piece of bread to his outstretched tongue, relinquishing it seductively into his mouth behind a wicked grin as his eyes widened in a flash.  As he chewed, a mere moment later, he chuckled lightly, and that caught on amongst the mages as fire might in a parched forest, as I raised my third or fourth spoonful to my mouth.  Suddenly, what had tasted exquisite moments ago, a decidedly different experience to dinner even the night before, left a very sour taste in my mouth.  Alistair's cheeks dusted with a light pink that I might have only noticed because he sat next to me, though he bore it well, shrugging it off gently: I could see him bite the corner of his lower lip, clenching it between his teeth.  
  
He'd already begun to take my suggestion to heart, Maker bless him, and I could see how hard it could turn out to be.  
  
"Alistair," I leaned my head in his direction without taking my eyes off Zevran, "Would you be so kind to pass this back up to Zevran, please."   He took the nearly full bowl from my hand without a word, and the laughter around us died down considerably.  
  
"Amiga," Zevran's eyebrows pressed together, meeting in a knot just about his nose while he scratched the back of his neck, "are you not hungry."  
  
"Not at present, no.  Not as much as I thought I might be."  
  
"Hmm," he hummed when the bowl reached him. "What a shame.  It was delicious, too."  I mirrored Alistair's rather circumspect shrug, and felt all the better for it.  I'd regret the lasting hunger later, but I wasn't about to eat at Alistair's expense: his ease was worth a thousand dinners.  
  
As the others finished, leaving the campfire one by one for the evening to whatever revelry they'd planned, Alistair remained scraping at the last bites of his third serving.  "You have no shame, do you?"  I asked, unable to control the smile jutting out of the corner of my mouth.  
  
"It's _really good_ ," he managed through a full mouth. "If you think I'm turning down food for a tiny jab like that, you've lost your mind."  I shook my head over a playful sigh as Alistair gulped down the last mouthful from a now clean bowl.  "But thank you, for that.  You didn't have to."  
  
"I know," I turned to him, resolved that I wouldn't let that familiar brag of my heart get the best of me.  "But you…"  
  
"I know," he mirrored.  "You said to be nice, and I _did_ try."  
  
"You succeeded.  For a first attempt, it was rather good," I watched him as his eyes searched me up and down for a moment before settling back on my face.  It was almost too much, those molten amber eyes remembered my weaknesses more than I did, and to relieve the tension, I moved my eyes to the sky.  It was nearly a full moon, and the night was lovely: the sky had gone all but black now, and stars gently dotted the night, like magnificent little holes to heaven behind the tiniest wisps of clouds.  I closed my eyes as a sprite of a breeze caressed my face, swirling the scent of the campfire, the heat and spice of burning wood, upwards around me.  What a perfect moment it could have been.  "I can talk to him if you like," I broke the small silence, opening my eyes to see Alistair just as I had left him a moment ago.  "However you speak to each other is fine, but I won't have it be a public spectacle."  
  
"I doubt it'd do any good," he sighed, leaning back into the grass.  "It's a bit more complicated than all that."  
  
"Oh?" I asked, unceremoniously plopping down next to him.  "And what's that supposed to mean?" My curiosity was getting the best of me, and anything _complicated_ between Alistair and Zevran had to be worth the telling.  
  
"I'd rather not waste the time explaining it to you," he said rather matter-of-factly before his voice softened as he rolled onto his side to face me. "I'd rather make up the time I've lost with you.  After everything--"  
  
"I know, I'm so sorry--"  
  
"Let me finish," he needn't have said the words, the deepness of his eyes, the blazing fire reflected back in them, was enough to silence me.  "After all we've been through these past few days, I realize there's a lot I don't know about you.  I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, days from now, weeks down the road, and so..."  
  
My heart had all but stopped when his voice trailed off, and my eyes lingered on those lips, waiting with bated breath for whatever they had to offer.  I'd nearly forgotten myself, my eyes half-lidded in response to the delicate softness of his voice, my lips pursed into a perfect little open circle, and when he cleared his through just as tenderly, I was nearly startled, looking up at him through my eyelashes.  
  
"I think I'd like to take the opportunity to get to know you better," he managed.  
  
"And how should we proceed?" I rolled onto my side to better see his face, my heart lodged tightly in my throat.  
  
"You know, I've been thinking about that night at the Spoiled Princess," he said, his voice almost too low for comfort. Immediately my face spread over with the deepest scarlet blush so fierce that even my ears felt like they'd burst into flames, and when my hand sprang to release my hair from a messy bun to air out my hair, in an attempt to keep my cool, he laughed lightly before continuing.  "And," he went on through a chuckle that caught, bringing a smile to my own face, "that game we played."  
  
"But there's nothing to drink," I tried to casually dissuade him from waltzing down that path, knowing that it'd be very hard to remain friends once that door was opened.  I wasn't about to ruin things again, not this quickly.  
  
"You don't need to drink to tell me something no one knows about you, do you?"  he looked innocent at a glance, gazing up at me under gently raised eyebrows, all muscles relaxed, and seemingly just glad to be right where he was.  "I know the big things, but those little things that make you, well, you, that's what I'm interested in."  
  
"All right," I managed with a nod.  "I think I can do that."  
  
We skipped the small things, jumping right in, and somehow it all felt very natural, as comfortable as it had when we'd left off that night.  I told him of my struggles as a girl, wishing that I could be a selkie, turning into a seal and swimming away from what was expected of me, and he told me how he used to wish relentlessly that he could be normal, be anything other than what he was: he didn't want to be a knight brought to life in ballads, like I had, he simply wanted to make his own life.  I told him about my struggles at court, about how it was likely that I'd have been made teryna instead of Fergus, and how it terrified me, and he agreed that the mere thought of becoming king made him want to drop dead, forbidden though that thought was.    
  
"Wouldn't we be a pair" I asked, smoothing away a strand of hair that had fallen into my eyes. "In charge of this country?"  
  
"What do you mean?" his face darkened for a moment, waiting for me to answer.  
  
"With you as King as me as Teryna of Highever," I offered, and Alistair shuddered in response.  "Have you really, really never thought of being king, Alistair?  Not even once?"  
  
"I used to daydream about it as a child, from time to time, when I was the most sad and most alone," he sighed, finally relinquishing that little thought to me as the memories of those times played all over his face, "and I thought that might be the only way I'd ever get people to notice me, to lo--well, anyway, that was beaten out of me quickly the first few times I mentioned it to anyone."  
  
"Oh, Alistair," my face contorted in sadness as I wondered how anyone could beat him as the sweet little boy I'd envisioned in my head.  "I wish I'd have known you when we were young.  We could've run away together."  
  
"It's likely we were in many of the same places at the same time," he admitted as he laid back to look at the night sky.  "How's that for irony?"  
  
"Do you really think so?"  
  
"Well, if you ever attended anything official for the King or for Cailan," his voice faltered a bit at the mention of his half brother. "I was there, sleeping in the stables.  All the major Satinalia feasts--"  
  
" _In the stables?_ " the amount of incredulousness in my voice took me by surprise, as Alistair raised an eyebrow at me.   
  
"Where did you expect the King's bastard to sleep?  They couldn't very well leave me at home.  _Unsupervised?_ Perish the thought."  
  
"You don't have live that way anymore," I resolved firmly, my emotions showing through my face.  
  
"It's cute how worked up you get about it," he smiled again, this time knowingly.  As I realized that I was nearly hovering over him, I laid down next to him, and one of us moved in closer so that we were shoulder to shoulder, though I couldn't place who.  "Tell me something else, something happy," he urged, nudging me with his arm.  
  
I took in a deep breath, searching my mind for something to make him smile, and then it struck me.  "I know this will set your templar training to tingling, but I used to think that we all have a bit of magic in us, somehow.  Not real magic, like Wynne or Morrigan, but just little, everyday things."  
  
"Ah," Alistair sighed happily, "And to think, I'd almost forgotten about Morrigan."    
  
"Alistair," I laughed lightly as my elbow met the side of his arm. "She's not _that_ bad."  
  
"Speak for yourself!" he joined me laughing before I turned my head toward him amid a veritable ocean of red wavy hair, shooting him a playful warning glance.  "Right, right.  Everyday magic: you were saying?"  
  
"Yes," I returned my glance to the twinkling stars, "Like my mother, for example, she made the most perfect tea.  And every time I tried it, even with the exact same measurements, it never tasted as good.  That was her magic.  Since I realized that, I see it in nearly everyone now."  
  
"For example?" he turned his head to watch me speak, but I couldn't bear to meet his glance.  
  
"Well, I always manage to get lost in Leliana's songs and stories, and I think there's a magic to that, an enchantment maybe, and Sten's unflinching ability to head toward a goal and put everything else aside, that must require a little touch of something magical, even if the qunari aren't exactly fond of it."  
  
"And your magic?" he pushed, his voice low and inviting.  
  
"That's the fun of it," I smiled lazily. "I don't think anyone is aware of their own touch of magic."  
  
"Well, I certainly don't have any," he stated flatly, though his eyes held the tiniest twinge of light, of hope.  I turned my head over to look at him, letting the smile playfully fade from my lips, and pretended to scrutinize his face for a moment; instead, I memorized how the firelight played across his strong features, playing at that intoxicating square jaw and down the length of that elegant, distinct nose of his, the one I'd come to love so dearly.  After a moment, we both laughed spontaneously, and as the laughter faded, I fell into the magnetic pull of those golden eyes.  
  
"You do have magic," I tried my best to say in a way that didn't read coquette gushing, unaware of my success or failure.  "It's in your goodness, Alistair.  And before you protest, I've seen it.  Everyday.  It's in the way you help others, in the way you care for them, the way you pull inside yourself when someone abuses it," I trailed off, knowing then that I'd said too much by the look on his face.  His eyes lowered and his lips pressed together as his hand played at a blade of grass by my own.  It took him several moments before he looked back up at me, and it felt like an eternity had passed as I wondered endlessly at what he was thinking.    
  
"That's very nice of you to say," he managed as his eyes met mine again with that little probing glance that often bewitched me.  "It doesn't always seem to get me where I want to be, I admit."  
  
"Didn't the templars teach you that all magic comes with a price?  That it's mean to serve man, and not rule over him?" I asked smoothly, my lips pursing together in impending laughter that never left my chest.  As I shook in quiet chuckles, he exhaled gracefully, visibly relaxing next to me.    
  
"What do you plan to do when the Blight ends?" he asked, seemingly from nowhere.  "That's a small detail we've not discussed.  Will you try to go back to Highever and rebuild it? I expect you'd want to."  
  
"There's not much left for me there, is there?" the joy fled from me, replaced by something else I couldn't quite place.  "I think we both know that now."  
  
"So, what then?" his eyes widened for a moment as he listed his frivolous outcomes, gesturing toward the sky. "Will you join the traveling circus?  Be a benevolent pirate that feeds the poor?  Become a renowned troll hunter?  The possibilities truly are endless, aren't they?"  
  
"I thought I'd rather stay with you, if you'll have me," I interjected immediately, too quickly, catching him off guard. His head jerked up as he blinked heavily in rapid succession, as the look in his eyes read little less than complete and utter shock.  "To rebuild the wardens," I added softly.  "To build a family with them, as you had."  
  
"I didn't know you felt that way," he said as though his mouth had gone completely dry.  He sat straight up, taking a hand gingerly to the back of his neck.  I pulled myself up in kind, leaning back slightly on one hand.  As we sat there in silence while I searched for the right words, I couldn't tell if the heat I felt was from the fire or myself, and while I thought of all the things I could say to him, all of those lovely and enchanting words that would fit right in the moment, I pushed them away.  
  
"I do," I stated simply.  "It'd be nice to have that back…for both of us."  
  
He turned to me then, nearly falling over in the quickness of it, but stopped just short.  His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but then closed after a solid moment when his face fell into an uncomplicated lightness.  After a breath, he tried again.  
  
"Speaking of family, I have a sister," he admitted slowly, testing me for response.  "A half-sister, really, who lives in Denerim, I'm told. Would it be okay, if we were ever out that way--"  
  
"Of course, Alistair," I interrupted him with an outburst, an eagerness to see him happy, to do anything that might encourage it, "You don't need to ask me to see her."  
  
"Woman," that transparent lightness still hung about his face, a small, pure smile at its base. "You never let me finish my thoughts, but at least you're pleasant about it this time."  I returned his smile with a shrug that asked for forgiveness. "I thought," he began again, "maybe you'd go with me to see her.  It'd mean a lot to me if you would--I mean, it'd be nice if you did.  I've never met her, and I'm not sure how she'll react."  
  
"I think she should be happy to meet you," I nodded emphatically.  "You're a good man, Alistair."  
  
"So you will, then?  You'll come along?"  he waited for the plain answer in total stillness, all of him gone rigid in the asking as if his life depended on it.  
  
"I--I'd be honored to.  I'm flattered that you'd ask me."  
  
For all of the moments I'd shared with Alistair, he looked by far the most content in that precise moment.  The contented ease he'd shown moments before transformed before my eyes.  That charming, small smile grew and the light about him that shone like a candle exploded into a star, a sun of its own making.  It danced in his eyes, setting them to a happy brightness that I'd not seen on anyone before, and as his smile spread as far as it might across the length of that gorgeous jaw, I noticed him looking at me, really looking as though I might just vanish into thin air at any given moment.    
  
I found myself at a loss for what to do as I felt the world shift around me.  Part of me wanted to throw my arms around him and hold him there to show him the kindness that he deserved, that he needed, while another part of my wanted to cover him in the desperate kisses that I'd envisioned for so long.  I had no words to give him that would even do justice to the moment, that could add to the perfection that sat just inches away.  I had envisioned this moment in my mind, the stars having aligned, giving me this easy entry into any line of actions, and there I sat wasting them all on uncertainty.    
  
 _You will not let this go James Cousland, you daft arse,_ I pushed myself forward as I sized him up in an almost brazen glance, leaning forward.  _Get in there like the woman you were raised to be, and kiss him._  
  
Until the sound of Zevran's voice brought me crashing back to reality.  
  
"Bella," he interrupted loudly as I felt my entire body sink into the ground.  "It's time for our patrol around the grounds, no?  You did say for me to fetch you after--"  
  
" _I know what I said._   Thank you, Zevran," I angrily forced a smile onto my mouth as I looked up at him, a mere shadow just beyond the fire. I looked to Alistair, who sat there just as content as I'd left him just a breath ago, a smile plastered all across that incandescent face, and apologetically mouthed the words "I'm sorry" as I stood up.  He simply shook his head, watching me as I rose and walked around the campfire.  
  
"Let's go," I tried to suppress the sharpness in my voice as I met Zevran, who had been waiting there for Maker knew how long.  As we walked silently, he said nothing, which had me hoping perhaps he hadn't been so unkind to eavesdrop on such a private moment, one he knew I desperately wanted.  I'd hoped he hadn't knowingly interrupted my time with Alistair, that he hadn't sabotaged it on purpose, though I had no reason to suspect any reason that he might.   
  
But I couldn't let it go.  There it had been, another perfect moment with Alistair simply tossed out the window for no good reason.  I'd been beginning to wonder if I'd ever get it right.  
  
The tension faded as we circled around the camp and came to an open field of tall grass swaying lightly in the ghost of a breeze that traced its way through the night, illuminated in the full glow let down by the moons.  As Zevran stopped to admire a few blinking, glimmering stars, looking up at them thoughtfully, I watched carefully for darkspawn but could sense nothing.  
  
"How are things with Alistair?" he asked, breaking my concentration.  
  
"Good, I think," I answered as kindly as I could, assuming that from his question he had simply approached at the least opportune moment without knowing.    
  
"And when you talked to him before dinner, what did he say?"  
  
"That he wanted to be friends," I answered honestly, deciding the leave the latter bits for another conversation.  He never added anything to conversation that explicitly said more than that, but his eyes had said all I needed to know.  Or so I thought.  
  
" _What an idiot_ ," he scoffed.  "A wasted opportunity, if you ask me.  I set him up for the perfect time to let his feelings be known, and he wants to be friends.  I don't understand it."  
  
"Maybe he wants to start slow, Zevran," I explained carefully.  "There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"  
  
Zevran approached me with a certain nimble agility that I hadn't anticipated, and before I was aware of what happened, he had me pulled close against him with a hand holding me dangerously low at the very base of my back.  "Let me tell you something, bella," he purred into my ear as my mind caught up to the rest of me, squirming in his grasp, "I meant it when I said you deserved a man who would fight for you, who dreams of you, who would tell you how he felt every time he got the chance.  Let me show you what it's like, how it could be."  
  
"Zevran, I--"  
  
Before I could push him away or say two words to put any kind of distance between us, he swept me up, stunned in a kiss, one he quickly deepened by snaking a hand through my hair, pushing my mouth further toward him.  When our lips met, I froze in horrifying shock, standing there petrified.  I couldn't force my hands or legs to move, even though the most sickening feeling rose in my stomach.  Thoughts raced through my mind about why he would do this, what could have possibly possessed Zevran to just grab me and entreat me to such behavior.  
  
Finally, something rustled in the bushes, startling me back into possession of myself, and as I swung around, I listened intently again until my stomach twisted into knots, that sick feeling deepening until I felt like I could vomit.  As I listened, the distancing hum of crystal moved farther and farther away, and my heart sank down to my feet.  
  
That is, until the anger took over.  My mind was convinced that Alistair had followed us for some reason, had seen that disgusting display, and as a result I turned on my heel heading toward Zevran.  The smile on his face quickly contorted as the slap I let loose on his face resounded across the field, echoing softly as the sound met the tree line.  
  
"I think I may have deserved that," he winced as he looked me in the eyes. "Though, may I say how gorgeous you are even when you're--"  
  
"Not if you don't want murdered on the spot," I growled, clenching my hand into a fist.   
  
"If you think that was him," Zevran continued, a bit more casually, looking over my should towards the trees, "I believe I just made my point, don't you?"  
  
My heart sank again, after a beat, despite the rage I felt in the pit of my stomach.  And as I swallowed, the anger rising so far into my throat that I thought I might scream, I tried to calm myself down.  This was a mess I'd have to square away later, when I was rational.  Being a mess of tangled emotions would get me nowhere, I knew, but in the meantime, I'd still have to deal with Zevran.  
  
 _Tomorrow_ , I thought, my eyes flitting toward the sky.  _I'll talk to Alistair tomorrow, and I'll explain everything…_  
  
As one star skitted across the darkness, shooting across the sky, I shook my head at the irony of my situation.  I closed my eyes and made the one wish it seemed I'd been making for the longest time, ashamed that for no fault of my own, I'd have to make it again.  
  
 _I pray he can forgive me,_ I wished so strongly I thought I'd burst. _Please, Maker, let him forgive me._


	26. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group's return to Redcliffe gets celebrated in more ways than one.

Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked  
Make me to rest in the warmest places.  
Transfigurations 12:1  
  
Everything hung silently still in that moment as if in the shifting of the universe I'd felt just moments earlier, it had tumbled to a dead stop face down like a coin tossed in the street.  Obviously there had been some gross mistake, I wagered, some oversight slipping past the Maker that Zevran should just momentarily lose every single scrap of his sanity, or worse, I dared myself to wonder, that he would do something like that willingly, purposefully.  Neither mattered, of course, as my tenable outrage demanded only to know why.  
  
Zevran lingered there, looking at me like a small child might at a parent on a violent drunken rampage.  With the moonlight at his back, I could barely make out his features, but confusion darkened his eyes under the softest touch: his hand rested like a feather at his cheek, not to deafen the pain of the blow I'd dealt him, but rather to reassure him that it had actually occurred.  His voice intimated that he'd deserved it, but that hand, those fingers hovering just over the taut skin of his cheek, shockingly said otherwise.  
  
"What would possess you to do something like that?  Are you _totally_ insane?" I was a mere breath away from him in moments, restraining my voice to a forceful whisper.  It was enough that we'd already had a small audience, I wasn't risking another.  
  
"I-I--" he stammered, his hands gesturing wildly at nothing.  "I thought--"  
  
"What?  What did you think?" I leaned forward, my eyes wild with acrid vitriol.  "Is this why you've been _helping_ me with Alistair?  And what superlative help you've been."  
  
And then, there it was: the resentment.  His cheek pulled away as though I'd struck him again, and his eyes closed under a furrowed brow.  "I don't know what you see in him anyway," his tone was the same kind of acrimonious as my own, perhaps in reaction or an attempt to avoid a sensitive subject.  
  
"This isn't about him.  This is about _you_ ," I seethed, drilling a pointed finger into his chest like a woodpecker into dry bark.  "Tell me why, Zevran."  
  
"If he wanted you," he grew more caustic, and I thought my skin might melt away if words could kill, "he'd have made it clear by now, you know.  Why do you keep chasing after a man who isn't chasing after you?"  
  
" _Stop it_ ," I whispered, my voice cracking.  "Just stop it.  Tell me why you're doing this to me, Zevran.  You know I have feelings for Alistair."  
  
"But he only wants to be your friend," he sighed as a thumb wiped over his bottom lip.  "And I thought for a moment, maybe you'd changed your mind.  It happens to the best of us, apparently."  
  
"What do you mean?" the words slipped out like a wisp of fog, barely there before vanishing into the darkness.  I considered Zevran for a moment, the look on his face was almost pitiful as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
  
"I'm sorry, amiga," he nodded, his eyes climbed up to lock onto mine.  "It's just that we've been so close, and I felt like I'd been protecting you from him..."  
  
"You had, in a way.  I needed you to," I let myself agree, even though the realization of Alistair seeing everything bit at me from the inside.    
  
"And the little physical things, yes?  My fingers combing through your hair, the way you so casually lay yourself against me in front of everyone….were those not signs?  And then, _the jealousy_ \--"  
  
"Jealousy?"  
  
"I'm not proud of it," he trailed off as his eyes focused elsewhere, off in the ether.  "But then he came crawling back just to be friends, and the way he held you, Maker.  I don't know what is wrong with me."  
  
"I think I understand," I answered, feeling so small that I might as well have been invisible.  "It's just as much my fault: I clearly didn't help.  I'm sorry if I led you on, Zevran.  I'm very much, as you know--"  
  
"Yes, yes," a little smile crept over his lips as he sent me an exaggerated eye roll.  "You don't have to keep saying it."  
  
"Can we still be friends?" I searched his eyes for any sign of willingness.  
  
"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"  
  
"You know, I've quite lost track," I chuckled lightly at the smirk hanging at the corners of his mouth.  I guess I've been doing a lot of this, recently."  
  
"Come, let's return, I think it's safe to say we've scared off everything in a very generous radius," he held out his arm for me, his eyes flitting up to gauge my reaction. "Friends?"  
  
"Friends," I answered readily, taking his arm as we walked back to camp.  
  
Not a soul stirred when we returned, and even Alistair was tucked away in his tent.  Part of me wanted to rouse him, to confess everything in that moment, but I immediately thought better of it--what if he hadn't seen anything? What if it hadn't been him at all?  Maybe it would be better to let him approach me, as I figured he surely would, to sort things out.    
  
And so I waited as the remaining days flew by until we reached Redcliffe village.  As we grew closer, neither Zevran nor Alistair went out of their way to spend time with me: Alistair spent most of his time alone or talking to Wynne, Zevran blended in with the other mages, and I kept quiet company with Beau.  I wondered if I'd hurt Zevran's feelings so badly that perhaps he didn't want to speak to me, or it could've been that he kept separate to make a point that we weren't involved with each other.  Maybe Alistair, too, really had meant what he said, that he wanted to simply be friends, or if he had seen that kiss, maybe that cause to avoid me.  Every so often, when I would get the most lost in thought, Beau would whine from my knees as if to tell me to control myself.  
  
"I know, boy," I bent down to scratch him behind the ears.  "Thank you for the reminder."  
  
When we'd traveled so far that I didn't think I could take it anymore, Redcliffe broke into view.  I was never so happy to see that castle off in the distance, knowing that things could begin back to normal soon enough, and that at some point, Alistair would be forced to talk to me.  Maybe we could get a few day's rest here and then I'd find a way to broach the subject.    
  
When we finally reached the castle, our little group reunited.  It was clear from Leliana's account that controlling Connor had been more than difficult, and while they'd managed to get most of the village in repair, the damage done around the castle would take some time.  Both the Arlessa and Bann Teagan had managed to stay safe, due only to Morrigan's interventions, and all were relieved that we'd finally made it back.  
  
"Never a dull moment," I sighed, taking note of how wearied Leliana looked, as if she'd finally found a moment to breathe.  
  
"Would you have it any other way?" she smiled through pursed lips before breaking out into her small, signature laugh.  
  
As we watched the mages ready themselves for the ritual to exorcise the demon from Connor, Alistair joined the village templars in their preparations in case things went poorly.  He'd want to be involved, I thought. I can't imagine him sitting still right now, not with it being Eamon's son.  
  
"Nothing's changed with him, I gather?" Leliana tilted her head to the side gently with a straighter face than I'd expected considering the topic.  
  
"How did you know?" I groaned, rubbing my forehead before meeting her sympathetic glance.  She looked at me as though she felt sorry for me, for us both perhaps, the worry written in the lines in her face.  
  
"Oh, the look in your eyes when you watch him, it's no different," she mused, her tone a bit wistful as she slid her hand over my own, grasping it tightly.  "I _had_ hoped there would be some development to share upon your return."  
  
"That's an understatement," the sarcasm in my voice was ripe enough to pick, and she jumped on it immediately.  
  
"Was your journey that good?  Can you two go nowhere without my supervision?"  
  
"Has he said anything to you?  Anything at all?" I knew that Alistair had fancied Leliana a confidant when he felt unable to speak to me, and it was worth asking.  I knew she'd tell me anything within reason, and the only thing keeping my from trembling was her hand holding mine still.  
  
"He hasn't had the time, I suspect," she glanced over at the templars gathered together, glowering over the mages with Alistair among them.  
  
"I was hoping he'd--"  
  
"My lady, may I speak with you? Privately?" Bann Teagan approached us, his voice nearly scaring me out of my skin.  
  
"Bann Teagan, what a surprise," I lilted, taking my hand back from Leliana to rest over my heart, as though that might prevent it from jumping out of my chest.  "Of course, I'd be happy to speak with you."  
  
"Come with  me," he gestured down a long corridor, and he looked surprisingly well for all that had happened.  He walked a few steps ahead without a word, as I couldn't but notice the gruesome state of the hall.  Everything was, in fact, just as we'd left it those weeks ago: every bloodstain, every bit of gore, all sat decaying, and I wondered if there were any servants left that were both alive and unafraid enough to get things back in order.  I imagined the arlessa, very likely in a state of disarray and disgust, unable to leave her room with the state of things being what they were.  She didn't strike me as a very strong person, even though she had been willing to give up her life for her son.  
  
_Words are one thing_ , I thought, _but deeds and actions are another_.  
  
As we continued wandering down the length of the corridor, I looked at the faces in the portraits on the wall, wondering what they'd think of recent occurrences, and deep down, I guess I knew they'd have been ashamed of Connor, whether or not he'd been possessed by a demon.  It seemed a shame to me to judge a mage for something they couldn't control, and worse, I thought maybe they'd have admired Isolde for hiding his powers, for keeping things together while Eamon was incapacitated.    
  
Finally, Teagan opened the last door at the end of the hall, the door to Eamon's office.  Isolde sat in the arl's chair at his desk, and Teagan walked around to stand beside her.  It made me uneasy standing there in front of them as Isolde eyed me caked in dirt from being on the road, my last real bath more than a week prior, and Teagan's face was hard to read altogether with some mix of frustration and concern behind the mask of cheeriness and hospitality he wore for me.  
  
"Arlessa, Bann Tegan," I began, bowing as best I could in my armor.  "I apologize for my current state: we're fresh from the road, and I fear it's been a rather trying journey."  
  
"Not at all," Teagan smiled readily.  "We're just glad for your return."  
  
"Yes, it took you quite long enough," Isolde added with an air of impatience.  I licked my lips lightly, trying to think of a way to respond that didn't sound biting or sarcastic, but since I knew I'd likely fail anyway, I went with what felt natural.  
  
"Well, considering that we found Kinloch hold in a state of utter and total chaos, torn apart by abominations and rebellion, I'd say we made fantastic time," I returned Teagan's smile.  "We even managed to get a treaty signed.  It was a great time, fun, really."  
  
"Yes," Tegan said before taking a deep breath, "It seems we're not the only ones who owe you a debt gratitude.  We received a note by raven some days ago from the First Enchanter with an account of that wretched business."  
  
As the arlessa's eyes bore into me, so much that I thought she might burn a hole through me, a servant knocked at the door before entering, "Arlessa, my lord, the ritual is about to begin.  We'll inform you of any changes as they occur."  
  
"Thank you," Isolde answered without flinching, her gaze still focused on me.  "That will be all."     
  
The servant left as swiftly as they came, and it struck me as odd that neither Teagan nor the arlessa would want to be present for Connor's ordeal.  Wouldn't a mother want to be present for the first waking moments of her son after such a trial?  And if Connor had to be put to death, if he became a true abomination, wouldn't she want to hold his body as the breath left him?   Everything I knew about Isolde was confusing, to say the least.  
  
"Don't you want to be with him--Connor, I mean?" I hesitated, my brow knitting together in confusion.  "I think I'd like to join Alistair and the templars, just in case--"  
  
" _Alistair_ ," Isolde's shriek reverberated off the walls like a banshee on the moor, her pitch so high she might have shattered glass with her voice alone.  "What is _that monster_ doing with my baby?"  
  
"Excuse me," I cocked my head sideways, leaning down with both hands placed firmly on the arl's desk to stare straight into her face.  I had been in this woman's presence for nearly five minutes, and already this was the last straw.  "I don't think I heard you correctly.  That man is a templar trained gray warden, who was an asset at Kinloch Hold.  I promise you, Connor is in good hands."  
  
" _Teagan!_ " she shrieked again.  "Get that man--"  
  
"Arlessa," I interrupted her with a slam of my fist on the desk, and she trembled like a church mouse, her face now meek before me.  "I suggest that you calm yourself immediately, or I'll see to it myself that my company, mages included, leave your home at once.  Let me remind you that we are here to save your son, not harm him."  
  
"Quite right," Teagan managed after an audible silence.  "Isolde, let me summon you a servant to take you back to your room.  You need the rest."  
  
"But Teagan--"  
  
"Nonsense, Isolde," he sated her, his voice low and soothing. "You haven't slept well in over a week.  Get some rest now so that when your son awakes, you'll be ready to devote your love to him."  
  
With a nod, Isolde rose quietly, never quite taking her gaze off of me until she was out of the room.  With them both out of the room, I slumped down into a plush armchair, my first real seat in weeks, and exhaled deeply.  I closed my eyes, rubbing at my temples, and waited forever for Teagan to return until I wondered if he'd ever return.   When I opened my eyes with half a notion to leave and see if the templars needed any help, Teagan startled me again.  
  
"Comfortable?"  
  
"Oh, Bann Teagan," I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could.  "I, uh, I wasn't--"  
  
"My lady, listen," he reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder.  "Please don't think we're ungrateful.  The arlessa has been on edge since this whole business began, and I think she should like to see it done with sooner rather than later.  I have tried to keep things as together as possible."  
  
"You're a good man," I relaxed a bit, my shoulders falling a bit under his hand.  "A saint might have done no better."  
  
"So I'm told," he grinned.  As the sunlight shone through the window, it caught the grey in his hair, and though he was visibly tired, I had to admire how well put he appeared in spite of everything.  He was a man who seemed to manage everything and well.  "But it's nice to hear it from you, especially."  
  
"You're quite welcome," I responded.  "Though, as a precaution, I'm afraid you might want to wash your hands.  I'm afraid my fresh coat of dirt may rub off on you."  
  
"Speaking of that," he laughed, his hand sliding down to my elbow.  "Assuming things with Connor go as planned, I have taken the courtesy of renting out the rooms above the tavern for your company as long as you have need of them, beginning tonight.  The barkeep is on strict orders to feed you whatever you like with as many drinks as you like.  We'd keep you here, but as you can see, the castle needs a bit of sprucing up.  Not quite fit for guests as it were."  
  
"You _are_ a saint," I grinned, my spirits soaring.  I had hoped to be able to take a day or so to regroup with everyone figure out our game plan, but have an actual bed to sleep in was the most alluring thing I'd heard in days.  This would give me the chance to speak to Alistair and hopefully straighten things out for good, and with the urgency of Connor's issues out of the way, I'd prayed he'd be a bit more easy to handle.  
  
"For you, always."  
  
When I made it back down to the main hall, I'd already missed the action.  The demon was surprisingly ready to be confronted, and it mistook the power of the mage, Surana, that had been set in to destroy it.  Connor had been taken up to his bed to rest until he was ready to wake, and the templars had pulled Tegan aside to begin discussing Connor's departure to the Tower.  I made my rounds, letting everyone know that we were free to disband to the tavern, where we'd be staying, and that we were all entitled to baths and celebrating for a job well done.  It seemed that I didn't have to tell anyone twice, as they all fled almost immediately, but Alistair was nowhere in sight.  I assumed he'd just gone, perhaps ready to eat or get some rest, and tried not to think much of it.  
  
Beau and I walked down to the tavern, lazily taking in the sights.  I imagined Alistair running around the town as a child, engaging in general mischief and playing harmless pranks on the vendors.  In my mind, I could see him running down the paths, hiding in the windmill, and splashing about the lake in the days before the world turned cold for him, if those days existed.  I wanted so much to believe they had.    
  
Finally when we reached the tavern, it was all I could do to crawl upstairs and wait for a bath to be drawn.  Once a tavern maid brought up the hot water, wisps of steam curling toward the ceiling, I eagerly disrobed and crawled in, letting the water soak away the dirt and grime I'd managed to acquire.  I scrubbed myself to the point of rubbing myself raw in places, until I was convinced I was entirely clean: a habit I supposed would die hard, as my mother's voice rang in the back of my head that my nails still needed attention.  Amid the bubbles sliding down my legs, clinging desperately to my skin, and the tendrils of wet hair sticking to my back and chest when I climbed out of the tub, I remembered that night at the Spoiled Princess, half expecting Alistair to barge in, finding myself a bit empty inside when he didn't.  He was so adorable that night, the thought breezed through my mind, all that blushing and the fuss he put up.  It seems so long ago now.  
  
I dried myself, combed through my hair until it began to dry, and put on my favorite clothes for lounging: Alistair's shirt, my long leggings, and my road-wornboots.  The thought had crossed my mind that perhaps I'd catch Alistair's attention, but the secondary boon was that they were the most comfortable clothes I owned.  As my stomach rumbled and the sounds of merriment below crept up through the floorboards, I decided to join everyone downstairs.  
  
A seat, a few fresh drinks, and a full plate were waiting for me between Zevran and Leliana as small band of musicians began to play wild music so loud we could barely hear ourselves.  I'd guessed the village had heard of Connor's triumph over the demon, and so they'd all come to join us, creating all kinds of revelry at every end of the tavern.  As I quickly drank and ate, I looked around seeing nearly everyone there enjoying themselves, with the exception of Alistair.  I frowned for a moment before noticing Zevran and Leliana chatting with nearly empty drinks in their hands, and knowing them both, I swore they were up to no good.  
  
"Amiga," Zevran cocked an eyebrow at me in mock distrust.  "You didn't tell me there were such women waiting for us in Redcliffe.  Why, I'd have ran all the way here if I'd had known."  
  
"He's slick, this one," Leliana hiccuped.  "Wherever did you find him?"  
  
"How long have you both been drinking?" I asked as a joyful sort of surprise had taken over my face.  It was nice to see Leliana having fun, and I was just glad that Zevran was a bit more comfortable to talk to me, even if it was ale-induced.  I picked up another and gulped most of it down in quick response.  
  
"You'd be surprised," Alistair's voice rang from behind me.  
  
"Alistair," I whipped around as fast as I could, nearly falling over and spilling a bit of the ale in my mug.  "It seems I have some catching up to do."  
  
"I think we all do, at their rate," he laughed lightly, seemingly contagiously, as I giggled in kind.  "Though, it seems you've already started."  
  
Soon enough, we all settled into place.  As I gathered a round of flagons full of ale, froth and random splashes went everywhere as I dodged around the tavern turned obstacle course.  Zevran and Leliana sat together, mercilessly flirting and laughing endlessly as Wynne looked on with a content smirk.  Serving them was easy enough, but Alistair and Morrigan made it difficult with both on opposite ends of the tavern, tucked away in dark corners.    
  
It took me a minute to find her, but I managed to locate Morrigan first. She sat, attempting to appear disinterested in the celebrations abound around her, but the gentle bobbing of her head in rhythm with the music gave her away.  Those yellow cat-like eyes, beyond the narrowed facade of apathy or even general disgust, lit with a touch of whimsy, of wanting to join in.    
  
"Enjoying yourself?" I asked, unsure if she'd seen me approach.  She gasped sharply, startled by my voice.  After settling back down quickly, she looked at me as she might have done if I was Alistair, though her expression softened after a moment as I handed her a drink.    
  
"Quite," she muttered low, only just audible over the music before taking a small, slow sip.  I simply smiled as I backed away, taking in the view and leaving Morrigan to her own little world.  For as quickly as I'd interrupted her intent gaze on the tavern, she'd resumed it just as fast.  
  
Finding Alistair proved to be a bit harder, and though he'd been aware enough to see me coming, his face told a tale much different than Morrigan's.  While she'd tried to mask the tiny joy she found in watching the night's events, perhaps wanting to join in, Alistair looked as though he was trying to forget himself.  The tiny crumpled smile that rose to his face when he saw me was not the usual one he normally wore.  I felt that conversation that I'd been dreading coming on, but as he scooted over so that I could sit next to him, he said nothing at all.  
  
"Drink?" I asked, as I sat myself down on the outer end of Alistair's bench.  Our backs were near the door, against the wall, and from a quick survey of the room, I could see everything in the tavern.  I'd wondered why it'd been so hard to find Alistair before.  
  
"Yes please," he sighed, taking a heavy gulp and then another from his flagon.  I watched as he drank, trying to smile encouragingly so that he might say something.  Still, he was unusually silent.  As I sipped at my drink in my usual fashion, Alistair got up suddenly, and when I'd finished my drink wondering if he'd run off somewhere, he returned with a few more.  
  
As he sat back down, I slid my empty cup over next to sever others, a running tally that read perhaps Alistair should be more drunk than he looked.  Maybe this is why there aren't that many women grey wardens, I thought. The men drink them all to death.  Out of the several drinks he returned with, I wrangled one out of his grasp for myself, and he frowned at me for a moment before returning a drink of his own.  
  
"That was for me," he said flatly, looking down into the flagon he'd started drinking from.  
  
"Do you really need that many?" I gestured at the two remaining cups, full to the brim with ale. When he didn't answer right away, I raised my eyebrows and looked up at him with my hand still floating in the air in the direction of those full flagons.  
  
"After the day I've had?" he finally looked over at me, the light from the tavern's fire showing the lines in his face etched with worry.  "Yes, I do.  After this whole journey back, really."  
  
"That bad, huh?" the corners of my mouth turned downward as a sour tasted developed in my mouth.  Right then I decided that if Alistair was going to drink his sorrows away, I could, too.  As he polished off one, I finished mine and began on another.    
  
"I'd say you have no idea, but you were there for most of it.  Today, though, I wasn't sure if Connor was going to--well, you know."  
  
"But he made it, majorly in part to you.  You've done more for him than any of us," as I raised the flagon to my lips, drinking deep, I noticed the little crinkle in the corners of Alistair's eyes, his telltale sign that a smile was not far off.  
  
"I couldn't have done it without you, you know," he visibly relaxed, leaning back against the wall behind us, as his eyes wandered down to me before a grin grew at the corner of his mouth.  "I couldn't do any of this without you."  
  
"We do  make a great team," I said, nudging him in the arm with my elbow.  
  
"Yeah, I guess we do," a light caught his eyes and they sparkled quietly with a molten dust as if a star had shattered into a million pieces and landed behind his eyes.  I couldn't help but sleepily admire them, the alcohol beginning to take hold, blinking slowly into his down-turned gaze, as I rested my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand.  
  
"Have you forgotten your table manners, Lady Cousland?" he mused, leaning in a little closer to me.    
  
"Oh, I've never been able to remember them,"  I smirked wildly.  "They're quite lost, along with most of my inhibitions right now, I fear."  
  
"You are a little scandal of a woman, aren't you?" he laughed, his eyes bouncing happily.    
  
As his hand moved over mine, brushing my fingers with his own, Leliana snuck up on us as we'd become lost in our own little conversation.  She grabbed my opposite hand, pulling me quickly to my feet.  "May I have this dance, my lady?" she slurred, bowing egregiously, a result of too much alcohol.  Before I could answer, she drug me off to the center of the room, and Alistair's laughter rang in my eyes.  
  
She arranged me in the position that she wanted me, and then began skipping off in circles.  I hadn't realized how much I'd had to drink until we stopped, when she twirled me out of her demanding grasp.  I laughed as I spun, landing in the arms of someone else.  As my vision cleared, the spinning lights and colors calming down, I realized I was with Zevran, before one of his hands slid perhaps a bit too low down my back, and we commenced to the same circles around the dance floor.  As we whirled around the room, the speed and the amount of pirouettes about the room made me laugh as the alcohol went to my head.  I'd never been able to dance as a girl, not a country dance like this, and I could understand why all the girls loved to gossip about it.  There was a bit of fun to be had with a few drinks, dancing in the arms of a handsome man.    
  
As the dance came to an end, Zevran released me and I stumbled into a bench, flinging myself down a bit too hard as Leliana sat beside me.  We giggled with unrivaled force as Zevran promised to bring us a few more drinks.  After we managed to settle down, our sides splitting from all the laughter, I told Leliana how much I'd missed her, and she, in so many words, informed me of her devious plans for Zevran that night involving a rope, a candle, and pair of velvet gloves.  All I could do was shake my head, smiling fiercely at the thought of them together.    
  
"And where is our little friend?" Leliana pouted as her eyes searched the room for him.  "I think he's abandoned us!"  As she tried to stand, her legs refused to support her weight, giving out and sending her back down to the bench.  I was still capable enough to realize that I'd had much less to drink, and perhaps was the best candidate to set out in search of him.  
  
"Never fear, darling," I smiled, raising my hand to her cheek.  "I'll find him for you."  
  
"Do make him fret a bit, won't you?" She simpered.  "He has to know it's not right to leave ladies alone like this."  
  
I winked at her before searching, and after a few minutes and a few rounds around the perimeter of the room, I couldn't find him at all.  As I reached the corner where Alistair had been, his seat had been vacated as well, and while I thought nothing of it at first, Morrigan was quick to point it out as  I passed.  
  
"I saw your _friends_ go outside together a few moments ago," she interjected as I walked past.  
  
"Thank you, Morrigan," I nodded in her direction.  "I'd have been looking forever."  
  
"Oh, don't thank me yet," she drawled, a small mischievous smile spreading across her face.  "That _swine_ grabbed the elf like a cat with a mouse.  It was most amusing to watch.  We should do this more…"  
  
Morrigan's voice trailed off as I made my way to the door.  I opened it and nearly stumbled out, and when I closed it, the music dying down around me, I could make out their voices from by the stable.  The conversation was definitely animated, as the sharpness of Alistair's voice cut through the damp night air.  I tiptoed closer, hiding in the shadows until I was sure of what I was walking into.  
  
"And what are your intentions for her?" Alistair hissed, his face set rigid on that tensed jawline.  
  
"Well, I figured I'd bed her and see where it goes from there," Zevran answered nonchalantly.  "She seems like the type who would enjoy it, one way or another."  
  
Alistair was on him faster than lightning could strike with a hand at his neck, raising him up against a wooden beam of the stable door.  "What in the name of the Maker would make you think, in a million years, that saying that in front of me would be even remotely appropriate?  James is a lady, not some--some _whore_ that you're free to use and discard."  
  
" _James?_ " Zevran coughed, sputtering behind Alistair's hand crushing his neck.  "I'm n--not talking about her."  Alistair immediately let go, dropping Zevran to the ground before stepping back a pace.  His eyes widened slightly while they stayed glued to Zevran, puffing out his chest slightly.  
  
"Then who are you talking about?  Don't think I'm an idiot."  
  
"My friend, no offense," Zevran rasped, rubbing gingerly at his neck.  "But there is much evidence to the contrary.  I learned my lesson--James isn't interested in me in the least.  Leliana on the other hand--"  
  
"What are you on about?" Alistair cut him off, his brow furrowing over stormy eyes.  "I saw you both kissing."  
  
"If I had my way, I'd have done a lot more than that.  You have to admit, she is a pretty little thing," his hands sliced through the air, mimicking the shape of a woman's curves once he got himself straightened up and brushed off.  "With a fire like that, you can only imagine what she's like in--"  
  
Alistair didn't let him finish.  His fist connected squarely with Zevran's face, sending him back down, a thick halo of dust rising into the air upon impact.  "Say something about her again.  I'll kill you where you are."  
  
"What did she taste like when you kissed her, Alistair?" he sneered as he picked himself up again, this time goading Alistair on purposely.  "Her mouth is very sweet, no?  The rest of her must be--"  
  
Alistair rushed up on with frightening speed, the muscles in his arm tensing and his eyes with a look of white hot rage in his eyes.  My heart dropped then, not at the words Zevran had said but at the resolute knowledge that Alistair would hurt him beyond repair if I didn't do anything.  As Alistair pummeled him to the ground, I ran over, trying to pull him off Zevran.  
  
" _Alistair_ ," I groaned in the struggle, trying to pry him away by the shoulder.  " _That's enough!_ "  
  
"James?" he stopped mid-swing, looking up at me as if he'd awoken from a nightmare.  "I--I--"  
  
"What are you two doing out here?  Stop behaving like children!"  
  
Zevran slacked down, looking as though he'd just been through the fight of his life.  I'm not sure what he expected from picking a fistfight with Alistair, but he'd been on the receiving end of some extreme punishment: he had an already blackening eye and a cut at his cheekbone amid other swelling and minor bruising.  Though his eyes were hazed over, not exactly focusing, he picked himself up again, nearly stumbling.  Finally he caught himself on a support beam before falling over as Alistair stood, overshadowing me with his frame.  
  
"Zevran, please, let me--"  
  
"Enough, amiga, I've had enough" he waved me away, his hand trembling in the air.  "Why don't you just tell him how you feel about him before someone gets killed."  
  
"I--I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to step forward before Alistair grabbed my arm.  Daggers might have shot from my eyes with the look I gave Alistair as I turned back, shaking my arm free from his hand.  I glanced to Zevran and watched as he faltered, hobbling away toward the tavern.    
  
"Someone get me my nurse or my drink,"  He laughed as he reached the door, wrenching it open.  "I think I'll be needing both."  
  
After a moment passed, I looked over at Alistair who stood there, staring down at his hands as he fumbled a little stone over in them as if he was waiting to be yelled at.  My heart sank, knowing he'd been defending me.  He hadn't divulged much about his own feelings, but Zevran was right.  I had nothing to lose now.  
  
"Alistair," I began softly, stepping in his direction.  "Can we--"  
  
"Why are you defending him?" the sharp edge returned to his voice met with the cutting gaze he sent, slicing right through me.  "After he said such--such things about you, why would you do that?"  
  
"Because I don't care what he says, Alistair," I shrugged.  "He was just trying to get a rise out of you: I did hear most of it."  
  
" _How can you say that?_ How can you say that you don't care?  I saw you both in the clearing: that seems to be a pretty strong indication that you do," he pressed, his tone desperate.  "Why couldn't you just tell me that you liked him?  I'd have left you alone."   His face fell and his eyebrows knit together over pursing lips.  His jaw shook a little as the anger seethed out of him.    
  
"He kissed _me_ ," I offered softly, as I stepped toward him. "And if you'd stuck around for three more seconds, you'd have seen me slap the taste out of his mouth."  
  
He raised his glance, a little look of surprise taking him over.  "You _slapped_ him?"  
  
"Oh yes," I nodded emphatically, gazing straight into his eyes.  "It was quite a show, actually.  My hand hurt for hours after."  
  
"I knew there was a reason I liked you," he whispered, his voice rough like gravel. His lips turned upward in a knowing smile, one that both took my breath away and turned that space between my thighs to fire.    
  
"Alistair, can we talk, please?" I asked breathily, my lips slightly parted in awe of him. "I mean, I know we're talking, but I have something I want to say, and--"  
  
"Of course, but follow me first," he motioned toward the stable, holding out his opposite hand for me.  "I have something I want to show you."  
  
He took me by the hand and led me to the ladder for the hay loft.  He climbed first, the view from below not lost on me, and I followed.  When I reached the top of the ladder, I crawled through an ocean of the softest hay as he opened the loft doors.  Once wrestled open, the revealed view was spectacular with the whole of Lake Calenhad splayed out before us and a mess of stars in the sky alight above.  The stars sparkled down on the water in a mesmerizing pattern, as the waves gently mulled them over.  Both the lake and the cloudless lake sky seemed endless as I kneeled there, gazing into them and forgetting myself.  
  
When I looked over at Alistair, breathless from the beauty laid out before me, to thank him for sharing something so gorgeous, he laid there gazing up at me in much the same way.  A blush spread over my cheeks like spilled wine as he took my hand again, inviting me down next to him.  
  
"It's better if you do it this way," he said, propping himself up on an elbow.  "It's almost like you're flying out to meet it."  
  
"So it is," I said feeling totally still like the first moments before snowfall.  "It's beautiful, Alistair.  Thank you for showing me this.  The only comparable thing I've ever seen is from my room in Highever.  I used to gaze out that window at the sea for hours and hours."  
  
"I used to come here a lot as a child, before the chantry had their way with me,"  He began, squeezing my hand and chuckling lightly as I smiled at his play on words.  "I spent a lot of time in stables, you know.  This one was voluntary.  I would sneak out at night and watch the moons fall low into that lake and sneak back in as the sun came up.  It used to be my favorite view."  
  
"Used to be?" I asked, admiring the way his face glowed over a happy memory, a sight I'd hoped to see more of.  
  
"Yes," he swallowed hard, his thumb rubbing light circles over my hand in his.  "And then I saw you."  
  
"I have something I want to say to you, if you'll let me." The words fled out of my mouth, a veritable rushing stream of sound.  Even though the music from the tavern was still audible, likely keeping anyone living in the near vicinity awake if they weren't present there, I could hear nothing but my heart clamoring in my ears.    
  
"If you're going to ruin this moment, I may cry," he started sarcastically, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise.  "I mean it--"  
  
"I think I'm falling in love with you."  
  
I blurted it out, and once the words were gone, my mind set to panicking, wishing I could grab them from thin air and put them back.  Alistair laid there motionless, as still as the lake below if it'd frozen over.  After a moment, his head rolled slightly sideways as he blinked a few times.  When he sucked in his bottom lip, gently chewing on it, I'd wondered if he heard me.  When I opened my mouth to speak, he beat me to it.  
  
"I did just hear that correctly, didn't I?"  he cocked an eyebrow at me as the corner of his mouth snaked upward. "Because I want to be sure before I kiss you.  I might get slapped otherwise."  
  
As I sighed resolutely, rolling my eyes at him, he darted upward, pulling me into his arms and pressing his lips to mine.  His mouth was warm as it rushed against mine, plying into mine with his tongue.  He held me so close that our bodies were compressed together so that I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, with one hand below my shoulder blades, pressing my chest against him, and the other tangled hopelessly in my hair.   With one hand, my fingers caressed the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing tiny circles there as he moaned lightly into my mouth.  As our tongues traced patterns against each other, I marveled at the heat radiating off of him as if he'd managed to swallow the sun, and when his head dipped lower, kissing down from the corner of my mouth down to my neck, I gasped readily for air.  
  
"Alistair," his name left my lips like a prayer, and I was more than ready for worship.    
  
"Shh," he whispered into my ear.  "Stay with me.  Here, in this moment."  He pulled away, leaning back and looking at me as though I might vanish.  He beamed, glancing me up and down before settling on my face.  Finally, he moved to pull me down next to him in the hay so we could look up at the stars.  
  
With my head resting on his chest and his arm around me, everything in the world felt right.  He leaned over and pressed a long, sweet kiss to my forehead.  I grinned like a fool, sending my smile up to the stars, until I realized that Alistair had never seriously acknowledge what I'd said, at least not with words.  As I inhaled, ready to ask him, he turned his head toward me, his mouth only a breath away from my ear.  
  
"Maker, you are simply breathtaking in my shirt, I must admit," he sighed, turning my body to jelly at his side as his breath brushed up warm against my ear.  "And before you say anything, I don't think I'm falling in love with you."  
  
I tried to move back, but he rolled over, catching me in his arms as he moved over top of me.  As my face crumpled in confusion, he merely smiled that same infuriating grin that had plagued me from the beginning and smoothed a rogue hair out of my eyes.  
  
"I know I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, right? Cue the shameless fluff and smut from here on out. I'm also taking requests for one-offs from any character's perspective related to this story: let me know what you want!


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